


A Lonely Place

by ohnoscarlett



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: BDSM implied, M/M, R (non-graphic sex, Slavery, Violence, War, dub-con implied, secondary character death, torture!)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:26:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10916178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohnoscarlett/pseuds/ohnoscarlett
Summary: Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard.  When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[vampyreranger](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** A Lonely Place  
 **Band(s):** PATD, FOB, MCR, Cobra, TAI, The Cab, AAR, TYV, Empires, Hey Monday, The Like,  & misc.  
 **Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon (plus Brendon/everybody--there's a lot going on here)  
 **Word Count:** 33517  
 **Rating/Warnings:** R (non-graphic sex, violence, BDSM implied, war, slavery, dub-con implied, secondary character death, torture!)  
 **Summary:** Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)  
 **Notes:** beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).  
  
[BONUS CONTENT](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15207.html)  
Fanmix by [](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/profile)[**lady_deathangel**](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/) and art by [](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/profile)[**clarityhiding**](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/).

A handy reference guide! (i.e. there are a lot of characters)  
[cheat sheet](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14955.html#cutid1)  
  


Part 1

He was a child of the Night Court. A night-blooming flower, if ever there was one. He had pale-honey skin, thick chocolate hair, and great dark eyes. He was a feast for the senses, but it was the eyes, really, that caught everyone's notice. Brendon had been marked by Kushiel himself, and his left eye bore a fleck of color. A scarlet mote, and it announced to all those who cared to look who and what he was.

Brendon was an _anguissette_. The first true _anguissette_ to be born in centuries. Brendon was nothing if not true.

I came to the house of Delaunay shortly after the death of their man, Ryland, their bodyguard. Now that was to be my duty. Brendon and William, my charges.

***

Terre d'Ange was a country blessed by the gods. Indeed, there was no Terre d'Ange before Elua and his companions settled there. At least the Companions settled, for Elua was forever a wanderer, even if he did stop for a while here and there. For eight Companions, there became seven provinces, filled with people of their descent, and a Brotherhood, for the eighth Companion was unlike any other.

Cassiel stayed by Elua's side, like a brother, always faithful .

The Cassiline Brotherhood was an order of priests who swore allegiance to the precepts of Cassiel. That is, they trained at arms, celibacy, and denial. It was a rigorous and stern service, and as such, grew out of fashion. Now, it seemed, only the provincial nobles deigned to pledge a younger son to Cassiel.

Fosterlings went to the Cassilines at the age of ten, as did so many others, to more luxurious pursuits. This training, though, was harsh, and ever so much longer. Ten years fosterlings trained, and for those years they were unable to see or even communicate with the families of their birth. At the age of twenty, they swore their vows.

Then at twenty-five, if their Prefect deemed their first five years of service worthy, they were allowed a visit.

A Cassiline Brother was easily distinguished. He was garbed head to toe in ash gray and carried his sword on his back. At his belt lay two daggers, easily accessible and just as deadly. A Cassiline depended on his daggers. The sword was drawn only with intent to kill, and this only at the last resort. The presence alone of a Cassiline Brother was often enough to defer danger. The royal house of Terre d'Ange counted on it. As did many others.

The Cassilines were well trained and sworn to protect. It was a hard service, but honorable, and one I had been dedicated to since childhood, as we all were. It was all I knew.

***

Gabriel Delaunay had written a letter to the Prefect. I learned little from this letter, other than the fact that I would have two charges. They were both young courtesans under the care of Master Delaunay: William and Brendon, both aged eighteen. My services, or rather, those of the Brotherhood, had been contracted due to the death of their previous bodyguard in an incident involving William and the political intrigues of the Stregazza family. William had been wounded gravely and was still convalescing. Ryland had been ejected from our order some years before over some indiscretion with a village girl. I had completed my training. I would make an excellent replacement.

I was not much older than they were.

***

I learned more, much more, upon my entrance to Delaunay's house. These were no ordinary courtesans. William and Brendon were very expensive, very exclusive, and above all, very strange. Of course servants of Naamah _would_ be strange to a Cassiline Brother.

They were also very beautiful.

I hated them. Cassilines protect and serve the royal house; to do the same for this house was near blasphemy. Even so, I tried to find common ground between us. We had all served long apprenticeships; Master Delaunay told me somewhat about how it had been for them. Brendon and William dedicated themselves as servants of Naamah at fourteen. For me, it had been ten. William had been sixteen when his virgin-price had been bought by a merchant named Andrew Mrotek for the exorbitant sum of four and a half thousand ducats. Brendon had been sixteen as well, and his price hadn't been as high by half. But for him, apparently, his price was to rise, for Brendon's charms were a rare delicacy indeed.

Brendon may have been raised in Cereus House, the first of the thirteen houses of the Night Court with their pale fragility and fleeting beauty, but he was meant for Valerian. Brendon was an _anguissette_. And for him, pain was pleasure, and pleasure was pain. He required assignations of a certain type, and he got them.

Brendon's assignations were part of the reason I had been called upon to serve this house. All his requests were carefully screened, and contracts were cautiously worded for his safety, but there was always the chance that something could go wrong. Brendon had a _signale_ , a word, which when spoken, would stop all activity. There was always the potential that this would go unheeded. Or that Brendon was unable to speak it; or unwilling.

Furthermore, Brendon needed an escort. Brendon was a rare beauty, and successful at his art. Because of this, he drew attention wherever he went, and not all of that was welcome. But that was not all. These were dangerous times, and it was not always safe to be out alone.

Something was afoot in Terre D'Ange. The events of the past year, while conclusive to those involved, did not seem to be the end of it. The king was still aged, and his only grandson was still unwed. That the king's nephew, a prince of the blood, Michael Way de Trevalion, and his mother, the king's own sister, were put to death for treason, was no sure sign of a safe and restful country.

I was to find out first-hand.

***

I accompanied Brendon to the palace, where he was to meet with a long-time patron, Alessandro Suarez d'Essoms. The coach was silent. He knew I despised him, for how could he not know? I carried myself straight and proud, yet could not mask the glares I threw at him. For his part, Brendon ignored me. He had more important business than whether his bodyguard held him in regard.

We entered the west wing of the palace, making a strange couple indeed. Brendon wore his garish blood-red cloak. The color, _sangoire_ , had been reserved for centuries for people just of his inclination, and it made my cheeks burn blood-red for everyone knew what he was and what he was about and that I was with him. It pierced my dignity to the core to be seen as such.

We were admitted to d'Essoms' chambers with little fanfare. Brendon had been there before, although not uninvited. It made me wary; d'Essoms was a dangerous man. He appeared at length, flanked by two men-at-arms.

"What are you doing here, Brendon?" he asked curiously. Brendon bowed low, and remained in that position until d'Essoms gestured impatiently. "I have no time for games. What is the matter?"

"May we speak privately?" Brendon asked. d'Essoms beckoned to the inner room, then followed as Brendon entered. His men cut me off.

"My lord." I was proud that my voice was quiet and even, yet conveyed a tone that forced d'Essoms to stop and turn. It was my turn to bow, in the traditional manner of the Cassiline Brotherhood. My hands crossed at chest level, and I knew that Alessandro Suarez d'Essoms could see how it highlighted the steel of my chainmail and vambraces as well as the daggers at my belt. I straightened and looked him in the eye. "I have sworn an oath."

"Of course you have," d'Essoms sighed. "Come along."

Once inside, and private, Brendon was able to deliver a message from Delaunay. Needless to say, d'Essoms was surprised. Brendon revealed that it was known that d'Essoms was an agent of the Duc of Namarre, Navarro L'Envers, and that Delaunay wished to meet with him. In relaying this message, of course, Brendon also revealed that it had been he who gained that knowledge. d'Essoms didn't take it well.

"You played me!" he hissed, swiftly placing a knife at Brendon's throat. "But we haven't a contract between us now, Brendon, and there is no word you can say to stop my actions!"

"There is one," Brendon gasped.

"Cassiel," I said. I did swear to protect Brendon, even if he was a fool. I drew my daggers even as d'Essoms' men advanced on me. They made little matter. d'Essoms withdrew his dagger and had done no more than straighten before it flew from his hand, so accurate was I. I sheathed my daggers and bowed to the man again. "I protect and serve," I reminded him. He glowered, but turned to speak with Brendon again.

"What does Delaunay want with Navarro L'Envers?"

"I don't know. He holds my marque, and I do what I am bidden. He doesn't explain himself. All I know is his offer. He knows who killed the Duc's sister."

I had to know my history to hold this posting, that is to be sure. The elderly king had one son, the Dauphin, and he was dead. He had been married to Victoria L'Envers. She was also dead, apparently murdered. Their son was Prince Gerard, who stood to inherit the throne after the old king's death. How information about the death of the princess-consort was to aid anyone in any way, I had no idea. But it mattered to the Duc, and d'Essoms and Brendon made their agreement.

"You will have much to answer for the next time I see you, Brendon nó Delaunay," d'Essoms hissed. He stroked Brendon's cheek, and I could see his shudder at the touch. I made to unsheath my daggers once more, but d'Essoms shook his head. "I know what it is you serve, Cassiline." He let Brendon up and sent us on our way, but not before squeezing Brendon's neck briefly.

I couldn't get out of there fast enough.

"You call _that_ service to Naamah?" I spat. "What you all do is bad enough, but that--"

" _That_ was service to my Master Delaunay," Brendon said shortly. "He owns my marque."

***

Adepts of the Night Court and other Servants of Naamah, like Brendon and William, were known by the intricate designs inked into their backs. Their marque was not only a designation of their house, but an indicator of their standing within it. An incomplete marque meant that the adept was still in debt of service, either to House or Master.

William had made his marque the night he and Ryland were attacked. He was completed in his service to Delaunay, if he so wished it. He simply had to have the marquist complete his work. Brendon's marque was as yet incomplete.

***

Brendon conveyed d'Essoms' answer to Delaunay and our days became tedious. We waited. Delaunay wouldn't allow Brendon to take assignations, and with the completion of his marque, William refused to do so.

He was in love with Delaunay.

I spent my days practicing in the courtyard, telling the hours, as we of the Brotherhood called it. At first I was alone, but then I was watched, by William. Brendon had no interest in my art. William, however, seemed intrigued. I was able to coax him out to the grass, and soon we were sparring with wooden practice swords. It was clear that Delaunay had never trained his boys to use a blade, but William took to it. He was good-natured, often laughing at his own mistakes, and it was a pleasure to laugh with him.

Brendon grew bored.

Delaunay informed me of Brendon's penchant for escape. He had a little friend in the City, whom he would often visit, if able to slip away. It was now my job, as it had been Ryland's, to go fetch him.

Ryan lived in an area of the City called Night's Doorstep. It lay at the foot of the hill, at the top of which sat the Night Court. Night's Doorstep held all manner of rabble; drunks, gamblers, thieves. Ryan was something of that; he was a tsingano. His mother told fortunes in the square, while he was a petty thief, a messenger boy, and told fortunes of his own if the price was right.

Brendon adored him.

So thusly I had to follow Brendon to Night's Doorstep and retrieve him back to Master Delaunay. It did not endear him to me. I found him readily enough, in a tavern with Ryan. But I found my way blocked by a gaggle of silly adepts from House Eglantine and drunken young nobles. Their carriage was stopped crosswise in the street, and the adepts sang bawdy songs and played their instruments while the young noblemen actually drew their swords on me.

They knew I couldn't draw my own. A Cassiline Brother only drew his sword to kill. I couldn't kill these fools simply to get them out of my way. It was disgusting. I couldn't draw my daggers either; for my life wasn't in danger, nor was that of my charge, wherever he was. It was frustrating and uncomfortable, and I could feel the heat rising to my face.

That was when I saw Brendon in the crowd of onlookers. He stumbled into the street in front of the row of swords, for which they complained. One grabbed his arm, meaning to pull him away. I could see Brendon raise his arm, the lordling hanging on, and look to me.

"Spencer?"

I bowed, and my daggers were out in a flash. The young lords immediately took two steps back, the one dropping Brendon's arm, while the others sheathed their swords.

"You are to return with me," I told Brendon, once the crowd had dispersed. His friend Ryan stood next to him, resplendent in clothes of many colors. How different we two were, with me in my ash gray. No wonder Brendon disliked me so. If I was not his captor, I was indeed his prison guard.

***

There was discord in the house of Delaunay. It was no secret that I did not approve of Brendon's line of work or his nature as an _anguissette_. And Brendon found me too dour. It was unfortunate for Brendon, at least, that William too was also out of his favor. William worked on some task for Delaunay and would not share the reasons with him.

William worked to solve the mystery of the Master of the Straits. The country of Terre d'Ange was separated from Alba by a small channel of water. It may be small, but it had remained uncrossed for centuries. The Master of the Straits controlled these waters, and did not allow the people on either side to meet. It frustrated Brendon that he was neither allowed to help William in his study, nor to know why William was doing it in the first place. Brendon liked to know all.

***

The Longest Night was traditionally a time of celebration. In the City of Elua this night was passed at the Midwinter Masque. If one belonged to the Night Court or was in their favor, Cereus House--that where Brendon was raised--threw open its doors for all the others, and those with the token of Naamah. For those not welcome at Cereus House, other masques proliferated around the City, held by common citizen and noble alike. There were no patrons, no assignations. All were free to celebrate the passing of the old year and the return of the sun.

That is why it was so odd, even for the denizens of House Delaunay, for Brendon to make a contract for the Longest Night. It simply wasn't done. Furthermore, I wasn't able to stand as his bodyguard. For Cassilines, the Longest Night was always spent in prayer--a vigil in the temple of Elua. But I wasn’t to do that either, and it grated on my nerves.

Pete Shahrizai was an acquaintance of Delaunay of long standing. I knew nothing of their history, but no one was surprised when Pete himself showed up on our doorstep to negotiate for Brendon’s company. Apparently the Duc de Morhban of Kusheth was visiting the City for Midwinter, and was hosting a masque. Pete wanted to make a statement with a genuine _anguissette_ , and that of course meant Brendon.

I watched Brendon stress over preparations for his assignation for days. He had taken Pete as a patron in the past, but that had been before my services had been required. Delaunay took pity on his poor student and soon sent word to Pete. A courier returned in short order, bearing the message that Pete would have everything Brendon would require for his attendance at the Duc’s masque. It seemed to soothe Brendon’s anxiety, but it only irritated me further. I didn’t like Pete. He was a fairly powerful nobleman, but he acted like a fool. I had encountered him several times in and around the palace while accompanying Brendon and William, and each time he had teased and laughed. I had no care for his disrespect.

When the Longest Night finally arrived, all of us in House Delaunay were somewhat out of sorts. William had disappeared into his room to prepare for another masque which he and Delaunay were to attend. Delaunay was short with me. We had been arguing about my duties and my role in this assignation in particular. I did not like that I had to stay at Pete’s house during the masque. I had vowed to protect and serve, and I felt that my presence was entirely unnecessary if I wasn’t even allowed to do that. Delaunay was under the impression that I would be of greater service to Brendon if I remained at the house. Pete was unlikely to introduce Brendon to any harm in public. Pete was of House Shahrizai, the oldest in Kusheth, with an unbroken line of descent from Kushiel. His choice to contract Brendon for the Duc’s masque was surely to remind the Duc of Pete’s influence, at least in part. It would be after the masque, back at Pete’s, where Brendon was mostly likely to be in any real danger.

I stood in attendance while Delaunay reminded Brendon of his patron’s connections and influences before assignations. With Pete, Delaunay found he really had nothing important to say. Pete was savvy, and Delaunay didn’t think he would let anything slip that he would think was important. Brendon would listen as best he could, as usual, even so.

Pete’s coach arrived to retrieve us, and we all found ourselves gaping at it. It was new; black and gold and shiny. Inside, there was room only for the two of us, and the seats were plush black velvet. Master Delaunay was no poor provincial nobleman, but this was an obvious display of wealth that was beyond any I had seen outside of the palace. I felt like a shadow.

We were met at the door to Pete’s house not only by Pete himself, but also by the captain of his guard. Pete smiled his wide, toothsome grin at the both of us, and I gritted my teeth in response. I felt he was mocking me at every turn. The guard, however, bowed low, and greeted me cheerfully. I was shocked when he indicated that he had been told to make me welcome and invited me to join him for the evening. I was completely unprepared for respect at Pete’s house, and I’m sure I stood there gaping like a fool for a moment before Pete spoke.

“Feel free to use the garden to keep Elua’s vigil,” he offered, and it seemed pleasant enough.

I was still hesitant to leave Brendon, though. I knew Brendon feared Pete. I didn’t know why, but I assumed it had something to do with previous assignations. Pete had never been anything other than smarmingly polite in public. I had no idea how he treated Brendon behind closed doors. I didn’t really want to know, but Pete always seemed to feel the need to goad me, and I didn’t trust him. Pete was dangerous, and the fact that I knowingly left Brendon in his keep gave me the chills. I sent a fervent prayer to Cassiel for Brendon’s safety before I turned away with the captain of the guard to find the garden.

I spent nearly an hour acquainting myself with the members of Pete’s guard before I decided to check on Brendon one last time before they left for the Duc’s masque. The captain, a friendly, lighthearted fellow, pointed me in the right direction and assured me that they would wait for my return before we settled in for a long night of silent meditation.

I found Brendon easily enough, but the scene that unfolded in front of my eyes stopped me in my tracks, transfixed. Brendon was freshly bathed, and I could tell from the sheen of his skin that he had been liberally rubbed with oil. That in itself was nothing unusual; it was Brendon’s outfit that shocked me, and his manner. Pete had chosen a half mask, white and brown feathered osprey, and Brendon’s dark eyes shone through it with a look that terrified me. He was dressed in something that I could only describe as an overgarment, a loose fitting, transparent white gauze contraption that was spangled with tiny diamonds sewn onto the fabric. I could see right through it in the light, and Brendon was as good as naked.

Brendon knelt on the tile at Pete’s feet, gazing up at him. As he was clothed in only the barest hint and shimmer of white, Pete was clad in the darkest black velvet. He wore a black feathered mask with an irridescent rainbow sheen, like a cormorant, and in one hand he held a leash. A leash that was attached to a velvet collar around Brendon’s neck. A huge tear-drop shaped diamond dangled from the collar, falling in the hollow of Brendon’s throat and glittering with every breath he took.

Pete handed Brendon a glass. It was clear, and from the look on his face as he drank I could tell that it burned on the way down. It was _joie_ , the traditional drink of Midwinter.

“You despise your patrons, but love them somewhat too, don’t you?” Pete wondered laughingly, his voice pitched low, only for Brendon. Brendon nodded silently. Of course he did. I hated to see this, see Brendon debased in this way, but I couldn’t look away. “Do you think he is a little bit in love with you?” Brendon’s forehead creased in a frown, and he shook his head, opening his mouth to speak, but Pete cut him off. He stroked one finger down Brendon’s cheek. “Your Cassiline,” he purred. I was frozen and out of sight; I knew Pete tormented Brendon for his own amusement, and that if he knew I was there it would have been ever so much worse. Pete threw his head back and laughed heartily at Brendon’s look of horror. “Come.”

Brendon rose smoothly to his feet. Pete expected complete obedience. He got it.

I waited until I could hear the door shut behind them before I moved again. I retraced my steps and found the guardsmen waiting patiently for me just where I had left them. The captain showed me to a niche in the garden wall where I could spent my vigil alone if I chose. I sunk gratefully to my knees on the stones and prayed that Brendon would not need me in these hours of darkness. Then I prayed that I would be enough to protect him when he did need me.

***  
  
I was in the dining hall in the morning when Brendon appeared. He was walking, and didn't seem to be sporting any major injuries, for which I was grateful. He was my charge, my responsibility, so even though I hadn't been able to keep him directly under my care, I was relieved that he had come out of the evening in something resembling one piece. But I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. Yes, I had seen Brendon in worse shape, but I knew how he got that way, and I didn't want to imagine the reason for any hurts that I couldn't see, and why he held himself stiffly proud. I most certainly wasn't going to ask.  
  
Pete appeared some time later to say his goodbyes. We treated each other in the usual fashion: his glib greeting, my stiff bow. To my surprise, Pete handed me a purse to leave at the temple of Elua, since I had been unable to keep my vigil there. Then he turned to Brendon and once more slipped that giant diamond over his head.  
  
"This is for you, not for Naamah," he said, almost tenderly. Brendon nodded silently, and the diamond swung on its velvet cord. Pete turned to a servant and gathered a bundle into his arms before thrusting it at Brendon. " _This_ is for Naamah. I have no use for rags. It should be enough to complete your marque, don't you think?" And then he left us, winking on his way out.  
  
Brendon simply stood there with his arms full of ruined gauze and diamonds, staring at me over the table. I stared back. There was nothing else I could do.  
  
***  
  
We made our way back to Delaunay's, finding the house quiet because of the late night. I could understand everyone wanting to stay in bed--I hadn't gotten to mine at all. I handed Brendon the purse meant for the temple and headed for my room to sleep at least a little while.  
  
It was early afternoon by the time the household awoke. I was clear-headed enough after only a few hours of sleep, and seemingly so was Brendon. I found him in the library deep in discussion with Delaunay. He had given his report, like they always did after an assignation. But this time it was different. This time Brendon had made enough to complete his marque. I watched as they discussed his future.  
  
"I know that it is not unknown for a servant of Naamah to remain in their house after the completion of their marque," Brendon stated somewhat hesitantly. Even I knew that. Precedent was right under our noses: William remained. Delaunay shrugged.  
  
"I thought I would lose you," he suggested. "To your little Tsingano, or House Shahrizai." His lips twitched with ill-concealed humor. Brendon scowled.  
  
"Would you permit me to stay?" Brendon wondered. There was the tiniest quaver in his voice, and Master Delaunay swept him up in a hug.  
  
"I would never cast you out, Brendon," he said into his hair. "I thought you would have known that by now."  
  
***  
  
Brendon always took some time between assignations; partly to heal, and partly to pique anticipation in his patrons. He was fidgety, though, and this time was no different. He dragged me into the City to go see his friend Ryan. We found him at his stables and livery service. Ryan had just bought a noble’s carriage, and we watched as it was brought in.  
  
"You paid too much, Tsingano," I told him. We could all see the wheels were broken, and for all that it was a fine carriage, it would cost him greatly to have them repaired or replaced. Ryan just shrugged in his laconic way, and Brendon grinned. He was in high spirits.  
  
"Let's have drinks at the inn," Brendon offered brightly. "You too, Spencer! Have water if it makes you feel better."  
  
It wasn't going to hurt anything, so I went. I had to stay with Brendon in any case. Ryan directed us to a table near the back corner. I sat back in my chair and crossed my arms, scowling at them as they made themselves acquainted yet again. It startled me when Brendon addressed me directly--I hadn't actually been paying attention to their conversation.  
  
"Would you take beer to Ryan’s men at the stable?" he asked sweetly. I frowned at him, and he returned the look. "Nothing is going to happen to me here. Could you just do this? Please?"  
  
I snatched his coin off the table and stomped off to the bar. If they giggled and snickered at me as I left, I did not hear them. Ryan's men were indeed grateful for the treat, but I didn't linger. Brendon had a way of getting himself into trouble, and it was best if I returned to him quickly. He and Ryan had their heads together, whispering feverishly. I stayed in the shadows and caught some of it. I had been in House Delaunay too long already if this was how I was behaving.  
  
"Pete told me that Delaunay and Prince Rolande were lovers!" Brendon hissed. It raised my eyebrows, but I didn't move to join them. It did explain a lot. "And I found a book of his poetry in the office to prove it!"  
  
"I think you should leave Delaunay's; stop being a servant," Ryan suggested coolly. “I’d put no collar on you.”  
  
"You don't understand what I am, Ryan."  
  
"I could learn how to be cruel."  
  
Brendon's fingers tenderly traced the sharp outline of Ryan's jaw. His eyes were sad as he leaned closer and touched his mouth gently to Ryan's. Ryan grabbed his wrists, making Brendon jerk, and deepened the kiss. That was when I moved. I thumped the empty pitcher on the table between them, feeling oddly justified when they leaped away from one another guiltily.  
  
"We need to go," I gestured toward the door. Brendon grimaced.  
  
We rode home in silence.  
  
"There was no harm done," Brendon said finally, when we were nearly back to the house. "My marque is made."  
  
"It's not inked yet, though, is it?" I reminded him. "It doesn't matter to me where you present your gifts."  
  
Brendon's eyes were black as he looked me over. I felt a chill go down my spine and I shivered. Out of the corner of my eye I could see Brendon's chin thrust out obstinately, but I would not look at him directly. We rode into the courtyard without argument. Brendon's affairs were none of mine, and I let it go; it was for the best.  
  
***  
  
In the days while we waited for Brendon's diamonds to be assessed, we heard of Skaldi raiding parties in the mountain passes. It was minor news, really just something to talk about, so we didn't worry. Besides, the mountains were far from the City, and here in the house we had Brendon, excited to finish his marque.  
  
I accompanied Brendon to the marquist's, of course, as I had William. It was different. Bob’s eyes glimmered at the prospect of completing an _anguissette_ ’s marque, as they had not when he had finished William's. William had been no uncommon courtesan, to be sure, but Brendon, well, Brendon was something else entirely.  
  
It took a long time to confirm the design. I had thought this had been done already, for it had been much argued over with Delaunay the first time Brendon had come to the marquist. Even so, Brendon lay naked on his stomach on Bob's table while he measured with calipers, again and again. There was a sketch of Brendon's measurements, overlaid with the drawing of his marque--a briar rose, thorny lines in stark black, accented with flashes of scarlet.  
  
Before today I had not seen Brendon's marque in completion. In fact, I hadn't really seen much of it at all. He only bore a few inches of it on his skin, and it was poor form to display an unfinished marque. I had to admit that it was beautiful. Even the scant portion already on Brendon's back was worthy of note. It started at base of his spine, beneath the dimples, and when finished, would climb to the base of his neck. It was impressive.  
  
We both watched as Bob set out his tools. His ink trough, a tapper, and a dozen tight-clustered needles. It made me glad that the Brotherhood had no such tradition. Brendon didn't share my concern. He wiggled and squirmed as he waited for Bob to start. Bob grumbled under his breath and slapped Brendon's behind, surprising him into stillness.  
  
And then he began.  
  
I could see the shock of pain on Brendon's face as the needles first pierced his flesh. I almost wanted to go to him and let him clutch at me against it, but then he made a sound. It was not a sound of pain. Brendon's hips thrust and ground against the table, and I watched as Bob rolled his eyes and slapped at Brendon again. He stilled, but his body was thrumming. Brendon bit at his lip when Bob resumed his work, visibly struggling to remain motionless. I was dumbfounded. I stood still for a moment, watching the war Brendon fought with his body, until I caught myself. I moved out of the room as unobtrusively as I could. It wasn't difficult--neither of them was focused on me, so I fled to the front room to wait.  
  
Bob had not been at work long when a young man clambered into his shop. He was dressed as a sailor, and he glanced around nervously for a moment until he spoke.  
  
"I need to see Brendon nó Delaunay," he said breathlessly, as if he had been running. Inside the workroom, Brendon heard, and his head popped up curiously. "I have a message for Brendon to deliver to Delaunay."  
  
"Bring him in, Spencer," Brendon gestured languorously.  
  
I was skeptical and drew my blades. The sailor's eyes grew large, but he stood his ground. I gave him a shove toward the workroom and made sure to keep myself between this erstwhile messenger and Brendon.  
  
"My message is from Admiral Rousse; he's supposed to meet with Delaunay but he's being watched."  
  
"Who's being watched?" Brendon asked tartly.  
  
"Your Master Delaunay. The house," the sailor replied. Brendon and I looked at each other.  
  
"What is the message?" I prodded. The sailor cast a withering glance at me and paid me no mind, continuing to speak to Brendon.  
  
" _When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede._ "  
  
"That makes absolutely no sense," Brendon muttered.  
  
"I didn't say I brought sense. I brought the message, and that was it."  
  
"Good enough," Brendon replied.  
  
The sailor scurried out of the marquist's shop as if his tail was on fire. I felt the same. Brendon spoke a few low words to Bob before he pulled on his clothes again, marque unfinished. We rode back fast, both of us concerned, and believing Delaunay to be in danger. Brendon kept pace, though I knew he was no serious rider, and surely in pain.  
  
The courtyard was eerily quiet, not even a stable boy came out to greet us. I practically leaped from my horse, daggers drawn, and shouting who knows what. Inside, everyone was dead, even the housekeeper.  
  
We found Delaunay in his library, lying in a pool of blood, a sword in hand. Brendon stood in the doorway as I knelt to check for a pulse. My heart sank as the moments passed and I found none. Brendon was silent, but tears streamed down his face. A sound brought us both back to the situation, and we found ourselves flinging books and toppled furniture out of the way to get to William. He was battered and bleeding, but he lived, barely.  
  
"There were twenty of them. D'Angelines, but no livery," William coughed weakly and Brendon cradled his head in his lap. "I killed two."  
  
"You!" Brendon said, disbelieving. William's smile was more of a grimace, and this time when he coughed, blood spattered his lips.  
  
"You need to tell Rousse what happened. And tell the Prince to trust him, and that Patrick knows about Alba." William's voice faded to a whisper. "Delaunay was oath-sworn to protect the Prince."  
  
Brendon sat and held his hand for a long time, unmoving. I finally had to pull him away. Brendon stumbled to his feet in a daze. I shook him, but Brendon's eyes remained glazed and unseeing. When I slapped him, Brendon came to himself.  
  
"We have to leave, Brendon, to deliver the message!" I told him firmly. "We'll go to the palace, and if we can't get in to the Prince, then we'll try Patrick."  
  
I barely waited for acknowledgement before I dragged Brendon out of the ruined library. We rushed to the palace, only to be turned away by  
Prince Gerard's guard and then again by Patrick's servants. We stood in the wide hallway, unsure what to do.  
  
"Brendon?"  
  
The voice caught us both off guard, and we whirled around to find Pete approaching us. I watched in horror as Brendon dissolved into tears, sinking into Pete's embrace. I could see genuine concern on his face, and when Brendon told Pete that everyone was dead, I could see the surprise. Pete called for a servant to get the captain of the king's guard and proceeded to take us to his palace appointments.  
  
Pete sat us at a table in the lush Shahrizai quarters and gave us a drink. Brendon gulped it down in one swallow, unthinking. I drank mine down steadily, but it still burned as it went, making me cough.  
  
"Tell me what happened, Brendon," Pete asked, voice dripping with sympathy.  
  
It was the last thing I heard before I passed out cold.  
  
***  
  
I woke in the back of a cart that was covered with a tarp. My weapons were gone, and my armor, and Brendon had been vomiting. My head hurt, and my memory was somewhat fuzzy, but I remembered that Pete did it. Pete did this to us.  
  
Aside from the vomiting, which thankfully had stopped by the time I came to my senses, Brendon seemed fine. In fact, he seemed something other than fine the longer I looked him over. He acted like he did after an assignation. Pete had gotten to him.  
  
"Did you give him Rousse's message?" Brendon shook his head silently, then his entire body shook as he folded in on himself. It was alarming; I didn't understand what was going through Brendon's head, and frankly, it frightened me. I pulled him into warmth of the blankets that had been tossed over us, then I wrapped my arms around him and rocked him. He seemed to calm, and eventually relaxed.  
  
It got awkward. I was a Cassiline Brother, and Brendon was a servant of Naamah. Two more different people couldn't be found, and yet here we were, trapped together and utterly reliant upon one another. I pulled away, and Brendon let me.  
  
We had to see what we could learn of the situation, so I pounded on the side of the cart, shouting. It garnered an immediate response. The soldiers beat on the outside of the cart. I was hit once, a glancing blow through the tarp. It stung, but did no real damage other than make me angry.  
  
"I am Spencer Smith, son of the Chevalier Verreuil Smith of Siovale, member of the Cassiline Brotherhood, and you are holding me against my will. Do you understand that this is both heresy and a crime punishable by death?" I yelled. We were separated from our captors by only a thin layer of wood and cloth; I was sure to be heard.  
  
"Don't make it worse!" Brendon hissed. I stopped banging on the cart and lay still, considering. "I think we're going north, to Camlach."  
  
"Great," I said. Camlach was cold.  
  
We stopped in the evening and the soldiers let us out of the cart. Brendon got out first, and they showed definite caution letting me out. I didn't care about the soldiers--my first concern was for Brendon as my charge. We were given water, food, and allowed to relieve ourselves, but then they tried to drug us again. Brendon had initially gotten less of the drug from Pete, so he was clearer headed, but I wasn't having it. I went for the leader's throat, making him drop the flask. I had no weapon, so I fought with my hands and feet. I had managed to take them by surprise, but it mattered only for a moment. There were too many and I was soon surrounded. I heard more than felt the thunk of a pommel on my head, and it brought me to my knees. I saw the arm of one soldier draw back his sword when Brendon's voice carried out across the encampment.  
  
"Stop!" Amazingly, they did. They were as much surprised as I was at Brendon's temerity. "You will be held accountable to Pete Shahrizai if he dies. Do you want that?"  
  
They didn't, apparently, because I was soon tied up, the drink forced down my throat. It worked fast. Brendon melted into a blur as he took the flask of his own accord and drank it down. We were kept confined to the cart and drugged for the remainder of the trip.  
  
***  
  
We ended up on a plain beyond the Camaeline Mountains. Our party was met by a group of men clad in furs, atop tall, shaggy horses. They exchanged coins, speaking in a language I did not understand. I could probably guess what was happening. They were Skaldi.  
  
The soldiers cut our bonds and brought our things out, including my sword. I could see it poking out of one of the packs, begging me to come for it. So I did. The leader of the group laughed, and I saw another man break away to intercept me. I dodged him easily, but before I could reach it, another man picked up the pack and my sword. They surrounded me, laughing, tossing the bundle back and forth between them, over my head. Again, it was Brendon who spoke for me.  
  
We all froze, shocked. No one had known that Brendon spoke their language. He had a quick exchange with the leader, who laughed and wrapped Brendon in a cloak before pulling him up on the back of his horse. Brendon's back straightened before he turned and spoke to me.  
  
"We've been sold as slaves, Spencer," he said sadly. "The Skaldi value their slaves, but you need to behave. You need to obey."  
  
I stood agog.  
  
"Brendon, I can get us out of here! Get me his sword! You can reach it! Get it and I can--"  
  
"I'm not willing to die for your oath, Spencer," Brendon cut me off. He turned back and spoke to the Skaldi leader again.  
  
It took all of them to get me. I fought with everything I had, but it was not enough. Brendon, the coward, wouldn't even look back as they bound my hands and tethered me behind a horse. I was forced to run in that fashion, as best I could, all the way back to their steading. It was snowy, and sometimes I floundered, and sometimes I was dragged. They would slow and let me gain my feet, but I hated them. I hated them all, Brendon included.  
  
It was near nightfall when we reached the steading. It was merely a handful of cottages surrounding a great hall, but people poured out into the snow as we approached. Brendon was lifted down from his horse and shoved towards them, but somehow he made his way back to me. His cold hands cupped my face, and for an instant I could see the concern in his eyes. But I couldn't stand it and jerked away from Brendon's touch and spit in his face.  
  
"You're a traitor, Brendon!" I screamed at him. The leader drew Brendon away to the great hall, and I found myself bedded down with the dogs.  
  
***  
  
The kennel was a low building with a small area enclosed by a fence. It faced nothing, so it came as something of a surprise when Brendon appeared. I watched him as he looked me over, and I could imagine what he saw. My hair was matted to my head, and the manacle around my neck had chafed it raw. The dogs sniffed around, interested, but we both ignored them.  
  
"We need to talk, Spencer," he said softly in D'Angeline. He hadn't come alone, of course. His two escorts waited on the other side of the fence. They did not understand D'Angeline, though, so we were safe in talking. But I didn't want to talk to him.  
  
"You're a traitor!" I hurled the accusation at him along with a handful of slushy snow. It struck him along his jaw and shoulder, and Brendon bent his head resignedly as he brushed it off.  
  
"The real traitor is the Duc d'Aiglemort," he said. "He's been paying the Skaldi to raid D'Angeline villages. And it was him, and Pete, who betrayed us."  
  
"But why?" I asked, and it sounded so forlorn, even to my own ears. Brendon shrugged.  
  
"I don't know. So he could build up his armies? Get followers?"  
  
"Do you think he means to overthrow the Crown?" I wondered. Brendon just shook his head again. Of course we had no answers.  
  
"I think I can free you, Spencer," he said suddenly. "There's no guard on you. I could get you supplies, your sword, and you could go back to the City and tell them what is happening here."  
  
"But what about you, Brendon?"  
  
"The leader intends to give me to Waldemar Selig," he said shortly. Even I had heard that name being bantered around the City of Elua, and it made me sit up straighter and look Brendon in the eye.  
  
"I can't leave you, Brendon; I've made an oath to Cassiel not the Crown." I dug my heels in.  
  
"Cassiel was bid to protect the Crown," Brendon began, but I stopped him.  
  
"No. You don't understand. Cassiel betrayed _God_ for Elua, because God had forgotten about love and abandoned Elua. Cassiel stayed. Cassiel protected him when even God couldn't." Brendon's eyes were big and threateningly shiny, but I refused to be swayed by tears. "I can't abandon you, Brendon. _I can't_."  
  
Brendon got angry then. I knew it was because he thought I was being deliberately difficult, but he truly didn't understand the vows I had taken and what they meant to me. I had wasted enough time on this plan of action, and it had been fruitless. I was now ready to listen to what Brendon had to say.  
  
"You need to learn to be a good slave," Brendon snapped. "You'll do anything you need to. Then you'll learn Skaldic." I must have looked skeptical because Brendon arched an eyebrow at me and scowled. "You need to earn the leader's trust, because if not, I'll be given to Selig anyway and they'll kill you for fun." I crossed my arms and hunched down in the corner of the kennel. The chains rattled menacingly, and Brendon softened. "We will escape together. When the time is right. We'll learn all we can, and then we'll go."  
  
I agreed.  
  
Brendon turned and called out to his escorts, telling them that I was now agreeable and willing to obey. Brendon was going to teach me their language so that I might be useful. The men laughed and said that I would stay with the dogs until then. So Brendon began teaching me Skaldic right then. I have always been a quick learner. And stubbornly persistent, which didn't hurt.  
  
Brendon's two escort were amused to watch our lessons. I know they think I am savage, a barbarian, that I do not even have language to make me a proper man. But the leader, Tyson, indulged us. We cost him a great deal of gold, and it would not do if we were less than worth it.  
  
Two more weeks I spent out in the kennels. The headwoman, Greta, helped Brendon sneak out some small comforts: furs, a wool jerkin. For those two weeks Brendon and I rehearsed a greeting for when Tyson chose to acknowledge me. I would meet him as a proper D'Angeline, not a dog who fought over scraps.  
  
When Tyson finally visited the kennels, he came with his arm wrapped around Brendon. It gave me pause, but I could see the hope in Brendon's eyes. I would not let him down.  
  
"I was impressed with his fighting," he said to Brendon, offhandedly. Observing me like he did his favorite dogs. I tried not to bristle.  
  
"He has trained since childhood," Brendon told him. "A D'Angeline betrayed him; make him your friend and he may fight for you." Tyson waved it off.  
  
"What have you learned?" he asked me, leaning over the fence. I stood and bowed in the Cassiline manner.  
  
"I am at my lord's service," I said in Skaldi. Tyson threw his head back and laughed.  
  
"He does more than growl!" He seemed delighted. Tyson then began talking, to me or to Brendon I could not tell. It was too fast, too much, and I couldn't understand. Brendon saw my discomfort and intervened, explaining. Tyson nodded, and I saw one last chance to speak before he left again.  
  
"As long as you keep Brendon safe, I will protect and serve this steading. I will do anything you ask except turn on my own people, unless it is d'Aiglemort," I said.  
  
"Tomorrow we will see what kind of servant you are," Tyson replied before turning away. My legs felt as if they could barely hold my weight, and I sat down in the snow in the kennel. Tyson barked out a laugh, startling the dogs. "Will he sit there all night?"  
  
"He might," Brendon said.  
  
***  
  
The next day I was indeed let out of the kennel. I was watched closely, but I gave them no cause for concern. I would keep my word.  
  
They had me doing small tasks. I hauled water endlessly from the stream to the great hall. I replaced the rushes on the floors. All the while, I could feel the eyes of the women as they stared at me.  
  
I heard Greta ask Brendon if all D'Angeline men looked as we did. I then heard his reply. "Not all, no." Brendon was shameless, but I blushed furiously as I tried to concentrate on my work.  
  
Greta was the daughter of the previous chieftain, but she maintained some degree of authority even though Tyson now led the group. She had refused him several times, much to Brendon's amusement. Greta was kind and thoughtful, and apart from befriending Brendon, seemed intent to look after me as well.  
  
She got me a bath.  
  
After the weeks spent in the kennel, I was thoroughly disgusting. Even so, I had an audience. It seemed every woman in the steading found some reason to pass through the bathing room while I was there. There wasn't a thing I could do about it other than blush and look away. I tried to preserve my dignity as best I could, but these were a bold people, and the old women down to the little girls all came to steal a peek. It was humiliating. Brendon tried to save me, but to no avail. He was at least able to rescue my gray Cassiline garb. They were going to throw it out.  
  
When I finished, Greta managed to empty the room and allowed me to dress in private. Brendon borrowed her comb and sat me down to untangle my hair. He took his time, and his hands were gentle. It was oddly soothing, and we were both quiet and calm by the time he was done.  
  
"Let them see you now!" he said proudly, tucking a stray lock behind my ear. I made a face at him. It wasn't seemly for me to attract attention. I was a Cassiline, and celibate. I had no desire to tease the women of Tyson's steading with promises of something I couldn't give them. I certainly didn't want one of them asking Tyson for my favors.  
  
As it was, when I returned to my duties in the great hall, the women no longer stared. They gaped openly at me. It made me wonder about the men of the Skaldi, if the women were so willing to ogle a stranger. But I had to refill the cisterns, whether someone was watching me or not.  
  
In this way, Brendon and I grew almost comfortable with our roles in the Skaldi steading. We were slaves, yes, but we were generally well-treated. It galled me to watch Tyson drag Brendon away to his chamber every night, though I knew he took some enjoyment out of it, as was his way. I was chained by my ankle to a stone bench by the hearth at night, but during the day I had the run of the place. We were complacent. That is, until the Skaldi raided another D'Angeline village.  
  
They were happy and excited as they readied themselves. I made myself stand apart, away from the action. My whole body shook with impotent rage. I could do nothing to save the poor D'Angelines across the border.  
  
It was worse when they got back. I felt sick, and Brendon practically hovered by my shoulder to ensure that I wouldn't do something foolish. Of course I wouldn't; I had sworn to Tyson that I would not. But Tyson took Brendon away after the feast, and I fell back to the hearth in a useless heap.  
  
Brendon came back out after everyone was asleep. He startled when I moved over to make room for him to sit on the floor in front of the fireplace. He thought I had been asleep as well, but he sat with me in the darkness, and rested his head against my chest when I placed my arm around him.  
  
"I couldn't stay there," he whispered in D'Angeline.  
  
"I know."  
  
"You should leave, Spencer," he begged. I squeezed him gently.  
  
"I can't."  
  
We fell asleep that way in front of the dying fire. We held each other for comfort that night, and I could see that things had begun to change between us. We had finally begun to understand each other.  
  
***  
  
The raid on the D'Angeline village served as a stark reminder of the reality of our situation. So too did the weather. Winter in Skaldia was very different from what we were used to, and we found ourselves snowbound. All the people of the steading spent their days for the most part inside. We heard many tales of Waldemar Selig, the great warleader who had managed to unite the tribes. We also fought our own personal battles.  
  
I found myself pursued by one of the women, Ailsa. She had been nice to me since our enslavement. She helped Brendon recover my Cassiline garb, and mended it after it had been washed. She thought I owed her some attention. I did my best to avoid her, or to communicate my disinterest as best I could without insult. I wasn't doing very well, though, because it soon came to the attention of one of Tyson's men, and he tormented me.  
  
"He's too pretty!" he chortled one day as I carried wood in to the great hall. "He must be a girl! We should check!"  
  
I couldn't see to navigate very well, with an armload of firewood, and I ended up tripping. I sprawled on the floor, and the wood scattered before me. The men roared delightedly. I was pounced upon, poked and prodded, and they tried to strip me, pulling at my clothes. I would not have it. I found my feet, and when I stood I grasped a branch in each hand as if they were my daggers.  
  
I managed to hold them all off for a while, longer than any of them imagined I could, I'm sure. None of them had ever seen the two-handed Cassiline fighting style. I was calm and efficient, and most of all, I had no ward to protect, so all of my effort went for my self. It took maybe seven or eight of them to bring me down finally. I lay there stunned as they once more tried to tug at my clothing.  
  
"Enough!" Tyson bellowed. My tormentors backed away reluctantly, and I was once more able to stand. And bow. Tyson's grin was visible from across the hall. He indicated that I could speak.  
  
"My manhood has been questioned, my lord," I paused to allow it to register with the onlookers. "I would answer him with steel, if you would allow it."  
  
He did.  
  
The Skaldi tradition of dueling is referred to as the holmgang. I learned quickly enough what it meant. They staked out a square field in the snow with a hide in the middle. We were each allowed one sword and three shields, and the first to shed blood on the hide was to be named the victor. To step off the hide was to forfeit.  
  
"You may use my sword," Tyson offered. I refused, briefly outlining my vows. "Then I recommend that you kill him," he replied coolly, shoving the sword in my hands anyway.  
  
"He'll try to kill you," Brendon jerked his chin, indicating my opponent. I shrugged, making him frown. One of Brendon's escorts, Nick--the one given to easy laughter--sidled up to me when no one was looking. He handed over his shield with no ceremony and walked away before anyone noticed.  
  
The duel was a flurry of broken shields. Mine--Nick's--was broken almost immediately. It didn't matter. I was trained to work in tight situations, and Cassilines don't use shields. I broke the Skaldi's shields in quick succession and he started to back off.  
  
"I will not be forsworn," I hissed at him. "Step off the hide or die."  
  
He charged me. My sword caught him full across, and I stood still as he dropped to the ground, looking stunned. I had never killed a man before.  
  
***

Tyson gave me back my weapons and I resumed my morning exercises. It was a show of trust on his part, I think. They were all preparing to leave for the Allthing to meet Waldemar Selig, and I was to act as Tyson's body-servant.  
  
Brendon and I were bundled up in extra layers of thick woolens. The journey was to take eight days, and it wouldn't do for Tyson's prize D'Angelines to freeze on the way. I was given a bearskin cloak, and even though we were moving further and further from our goal of returning to Terre d'Ange, I was happier in action.  
  
The meeting place was in a valley with a lake at the bottom. Apparently it was actually Selig's steading. Everyone in our party was visibly tense. No one spoke to us, but I could hear murmurs following in our wake, and no one would meet my eyes. I didn't really expect them to.  
  
Tyson immediately had an audience with Selig. All the tribes brought him tribute, and this was done before the start of the Allthing. We could see, while we waited our turn, the manner of gifts he was being given: gold, wolf pelts, carved wooden rods. The tribal leaders each pledged him their loyalty, then backed off, allowing the ceremony to continue.  
  
When it was finally Tyson's turn, he offered Brendon and myself as tribute, just as Brendon had said he would. Selig must have heard something about us because he was not surprised. He was impressed, though, when he saw us, for his eyebrows raised in surprise then. Brendon and I both bowed. I did so in my usual Cassiline manner, but Brendon bowed as he was taught by Delaunay, as if to a foreign king. Selig knew it, and even Tyson must have known somewhat, because he grinned wide.  
  
"They have been trained to please kings, and to protect them," Tyson said, gesturing first to Brendon, then to me. The hall was silent. He had just acknowledged Selig as the sole ruler of the tribes. It took a moment to absorb.  
  
"I would send one such as you to tempt an enemy; how is it that you are a slave?" Selig asked of Brendon. Brendon inclined his head, and I knew that the sadness that passed over his features was not feigned.  
  
"I knew too much," he said simply, looking down at the floor. His lashes were black against his pale cheeks. Selig's attention switched abruptly to me.  
  
"I am oath-sworn to guard Brendon's life; it is a matter of honor," I said in halting Skaldi. My Skaldi is passing decent. I don't know why I chose to pretend otherwise. It didn't save me from Selig. He spoke some D'Angeline, and Caerdicci, which I knew fluently, as did Brendon. I could see why he was so dangerous. Skaldia's neighbors believed they were barbarians. Selig was a thinker.  
  
"Tell Selig that I swear to guard him," I said to Brendon in D'Angeline. He looked at me quickly, but did as I asked. Selig agreed to use me as Tyson had indicated, and Brendon as well. He wanted Brendon to teach him the D'Angeline language and customs. That was one way to put it, I guess.  
  
Both of us attended Selig at the feast that first evening of the Allthing. He asked us what was proper, and listened when we told him. Brendon poured mead at his table, and I attended Selig in the Cassiline manner. I stood three steps behind his left shoulder, an alert and obvious presence.  
  
Selig's eyes followed Brendon around the room, and when he saw Pete's diamond around Tyson's throat, we all did. Selig called a wager for the thing, arm wrestling. It seemed strange, but Selig showed his tribal leaders that he was the best of them intellectually, but also with strength. It seemed as if he would set himself up as king if not for a nation full of drunken barbarians. He hungered for our more refined customs, and he could see that the diamond was no Skaldi trinket, but D'Angeline. It was a start.  
  
Selig beat Tyson soundly. Tyson took the loss gracefully, passing the diamond over to the warleader with a little flourish. Selig promptly called for Brendon and gave it to him. He had no way of knowing that it had been Brendon's to begin with, that he was giving it back. Brendon knelt at his feet, visibly trembling as Selig tied the cord around his throat. The thing disturbed him. I kind of wished that Selig had kept it for himself.  
  
The next day was the Allthing. We were made to stay in a storeroom off the great hall and couldn't hear what was going on. Being enclosed made me anxious, and I paced, testing the door and examining the stores of grain and ale. There was nothing useful, and there was no way out.  
  
Brendon tried to listen to the Allthing, but he couldn't hear through the thick wooden door. He decided that if he climbed on some of the barrels to get to the rafters, he could probably hear better. I looked at him skeptically for a minute, but it wasn't as if we had any other options. I gave him my coat, hoping to keep the evidence of his climbing off of his clothing. The gray wouldn't show as much dirt, and wouldn't matter as much on me anyway.  
  
I watched as Brendon climbed barrels of ale. He was strong and had a light step, and he was fearless. I simply stood at the bottom and prayed that he wouldn't fall. Or get caught. Brendon reached the top and had to jump to reach the rafters. I was breathless, waiting for him to gain purchase on the timber as his legs dangled and kicked. It felt like I still held my breath when he was gone, out listening to whatever was going on out in the great hall. Soon enough, though, I could see Brendon wriggling backward. Getting down was always so much more dangerous than going up, and I worried as he dropped down to the barrels once more. He climbed down carefully, but I felt compelled to catch him about the waist when I could reach him. I was glad that I had--Brendon was shaking, and he pressed his face against my chest for a moment before he spoke.  
  
"Invade. They plan to invade Terre d'Ange, Spencer," he finally whispered. "We need to warn them."  
  
Tears streamed down Brendon's grimy face and I wiped them away.  
  
"Help me put the room back the way it was," I said softly. "Then you can tell me what you heard."  
  
We sat on the floor and brushed off our clothes as Brendon told the tale. Waldemar Selig wanted to build a nation. He told the assembled Skaldi that he had received a letter from d'Aiglemort, wanting the throne, wanting their help to get it. The plan was to let most of the Skaldi through two southerly passes in the Camaeline Mountains, to lure the Royal Army. At the same time, a smaller group fronted by Selig would cross over a northern pass and "confront" d'Aiglemort. They would meet, discuss peace, forge a trade agreement and acknowledge the sovereignty of Selig. The price for peace for Terre d'Ange was d'Aiglemort on the throne. If the king did not agree, they would simply attack the Royal Army from behind and take it by force.  
  
Selig had different plan. He intended to betray d'Aiglemort and take the army themselves. Selig not only wanted the Skaldi throne for himself, he wanted the throne of Terre d'Ange as well.  
  
"When I was first assigned to House Delaunay, I thought it was punishment. You were just an expensive plaything..." I trailed off guiltily.  
  
"I was," Brendon replied bluntly. "Still am."  
  
"Pete could have gotten his information elsewhere," I snapped, but there was no real bite in it. Brendon's shoulders sagged.  
  
"I let him," he said dejectedly. "Selig will do it too. I will prove just how a D'Angeline whore is supposed to be, and I will thank him for it."  
  
I felt sick. I hated that I had to sit back and allow Brendon to suffer someone's hands on him, endure the pain and humiliation that I could not keep from him. It built up a bubble in my chest that grew unto bursting.  
  
"Then do it," I hissed. "When he crosses into Terre d'Ange, I will kill him and thank him for it."  
  
Brendon barked out a sharp laugh, and to my surprise, I joined him. I wasn't turning out to be quite the Cassiline either of us expected me to be.  
  
***

[ Part 2](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15794.html)


	2. A Lonely Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[vampyreranger](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** A Lonely Place  
 **Band(s):** PATD, FOB, MCR, Cobra, TAI, The Cab, AAR, TYV, Empires, Hey Monday, The Like,  & misc.  
 **Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon (plus Brendon/everybody--there's a lot going on here)  
 **Word Count:** 33517  
 **Rating/Warnings:** R (non-graphic sex, violence, BDSM implied, war, slavery, dub-con implied, secondary character death, torture!)  
 **Summary:** Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)  
 **Notes:** beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).  
  
[BONUS CONTENT](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15207.html)  
Fanmix by [](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/profile)[**lady_deathangel**](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/) and art by [](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/profile)[**clarityhiding**](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/).

A handy reference guide! (i.e. there are a lot of characters)  
[cheat sheet](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14955.html#cutid1)  
  
[Part 1](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15363.html)

Part 2

They let us out of the storeroom once the Allthing was over and the celebrating was to begin. They didn't bother trying to keep the invasion secret, but they were confident that we didn't know any details. We had been locked in a storeroom, after all.  
  
Only a chosen few were in the great hall, Tyson included. Selig kept a close eye on me, and kept Brendon near, like a trophy for a tournament he had yet to win. The celebration lasted late into the night, and I could see how Brendon eventually relaxed, thinking Selig would again dismiss him. He was not so fortunate, however, for when Selig finally rose, he spoke to one of his personal guard, telling him to bring Brendon to his chamber. For his part, Brendon didn't even react. He simply continued serving mead around Selig's table until the guards came for him, taking him by his arms. He was afraid--I knew it; I could see it on his face and in the line of his body, but he walked with head held high. I'm sure it was not the first time Brendon met with a patron with fear in his heart. I hoped it could be the last, but I knew it wouldn't be, not with Brendon.  
  
The next day the encampment began to break up. I rode escort with Selig around the steading, watching as he gave direction and farewells to the departing tribes. We heard shouting and signs of a disturbance, and what we came upon had me off my horse with my sword drawn before Selig had even drawn a breath. Brendon was on the ground, struggling under the weight of four men, a dozen others urging them on. I couldn't tell exactly what they were doing to him, other than tugging at his clothes and fumbling with their own. That was enough. Four men lay dead in the snow by the time Selig got off his horse to investigate. I heard him shouting, but couldn't pick out the words. It surprised me when he himself parried my last thrust and struck me on the temple with the pommel of his sword. I dropped to my knees, swaying and bleeding, and my sword tumbled out of my hands.  
  
The crowd backed away from Selig, so too then from me, and from Brendon. I was barely aware of what was going on around me, the ringing in my ears was so great.  
  
"Kill him," Selig told his guard. My head swam.  
  
" _No!_ " Brendon yelled raggedly. "He was only honoring his vow to protect me! I'll do anything--"  
  
"You will anyway," Selig said coolly. Brendon raised his chin defiantly. I could practically hear the thoughts going through his mind, but luckily he didn't say anything before Nick--from Tyson's steading--came closer. He pointed out one of the men who had been assaulting Brendon, who now was dead at his feet, but also whose pants were open, for he had been ready to rape Brendon there on the ground in front of everyone.  
  
"I found him trying to get on top of that one," Nick said, indicating Brendon. "And it's true, what he says about the vow..."  
  
I didn't hear any more. My hold on consciousness slipped away and I slumped to the ground. They didn't kill me. Instead I was dragged to the smithy and put in chains. I wasn't dead, and Brendon wasn't dead, but we weren't any better off than we had been. In fact, things were worse.  
  
***  
  
I found myself alone in a tiny hut away from the great hall. Three days passed before I saw anyone other than my guard, and that someone was Brendon, of course. He knelt on the floor in front of me and looked at my face.  
  
"What are you doing?" he asked plaintively.  
  
I looked around me, rather than answer him. I had a straw pallet and a blanket, but I hadn't really been using them. My hands and feet were shackled, attached by a chain to a ring in the floor. I, too, knelt, and it was cold. There was a little brazier with a few coals, but it served to make the hut smoky more than anything else. I hadn't been eating, and it was that, I knew, to which he referred.  
  
"I dishonored my vow, Brendon. I drew to kill," I said finally, my head hanging low.  
  
"That's all?" he remarked, brighter. I looked up at him, noticing for the first time that he had not come alone. Waldemar Selig stood in the entrance to the hut, blocking out most of the light. Brendon turned and spoke to him in Skaldi, telling him that I atoned for my deeds.  
  
"It is done. Tell him. I did it," Selig said to Brendon. "I want him to teach me his manner of fighting. Tell him."  
  
"I want to die," I moaned.  
  
"You forget your vow, Spencer! You vowed to protect me! I need you!" Brendon squawked.  
  
"I can't," I replied softly. Brendon shoved me, knocking me over in a flurry of jangling chains.  
  
"I'll write your prefect!" he threatened.  
  
"You will not."  
  
"Stop me. Protect and serve, Cassiline!" he snapped. He was angry. "Protect and serve! That's why you're here in the first place."  
  
I rolled back up to my knees. It felt like the weight of the chains was pulling me down, they were so heavy. I could barely lift my head.  
  
"It's hard, Brendon."  
  
"I know," he said gently.  
  
Selig gave me a bowl of broth and bade me eat it before he left. Despite myself I continued to grow stronger, day after day. My wrists chafed, and I used it as an excuse to delay teaching Selig the Cassiline style of fighting. He still let Brendon visit every day, and we both knew it was an incentive, and a reminder of my vow.  
  
I looked forward to his visits.  
  
Brendon was a talker, and I learned much from his coming, even though I was confined to the hut and otherwise isolated. He told me the events that led up to his assault after the Allthing. He had simply been out walking, headed over to say goodbye to Greta at Tyson's camp. He had literally run into a random thane, who then decided to take him. It was so different here at Selig's than it had been at Tyson's. We were practically one of them there. They accepted us, befriended us--for the most part, at least. Here, most of the people hated us. When they looked at Brendon at all, he could see the hunger, scorn, and resentment in their eyes. We were not wanted here. People thought Brendon was some sort of witch who had bespelled Selig.  
  
At least the invasion was being held off until summer.  
  
The weather and cold metal chafed at me. My hands and wrists became red and swollen, dry and cracked. Selig finally brought a healer, an old man with one eye, who examined me and produced a jar of balm. Very smelly balm.  
  
We were still pretending that my Skaldic was bad, and Brendon would translate. He was forced to remind me that Selig wanted to learn the Cassiline fighting style. I had not forgotten, of course. With my wounds tended to, I finally acceded, and actually spoke to Selig myself. Carefully.  
  
"I need my arms back, at least my... vambraces?" I looked to Brendon, who shrugged. The Skaldi had no word for such things, but Selig seemed to figure it out. "Wooden training daggers and a wooden sword."  
  
Selig looked at me thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke.  
  
"The Skaldi don't train with toys," he said. "You will have your weapons. And you will teach me."  
  
***  
  
Like most D'Angelines, I healed quickly, so I couldn't put off Selig's training sessions any longer. It was very hard to teach the Cassiline fighting style. I had been training since I was ten years old, and I had to break down what eventually became the flowing morning ritual of telling the hours into the basic forms of strikes, feints, blocks, and parries. These skills were somewhat contrary to what Selig already had. While brute force had been successful for him, he soon grew impatient and the lessons ended. My arms were taken away again, and I found myself locked up once more. Selig was suspicious, even though I had simply been doing what he asked. It wasn't my fault if it was more subtle and complex than he had anticipated.  
  
Brendon was still allowed to visit me in isolation, and he kept me informed of the goings on in the steading. I think part of the reason he told me everything he discovered was that it was his way to organize his thoughts and work it all out. There was no need for him to tell me anything--I couldn't do anything about any of it, chained up in a hut, but I liked the company.  
  
A messenger had come, bearing a letter for Selig. Brendon overheard the gist of it, although he was too far away to read it himself. Apparently d'Aiglemort was going to take the bait. and awaited their meeting. The letter, however, was not from d'Aiglemort. It was from Pete Shahrizai. He was playing both sides. No matter which one won, Pete will have been in league with them, and he stood to benefit.  
  
We sat in silence for a moment. I jiggled my chains, showing Brendon how the iron ring in the floor had grown loose. Then we made a plan.  
  
It was murder.  
  
"Tonight will be the last he has of me!" Brendon hissed.  
  
I hoped it was true.  
  
***  
  
The next day Selig had planned a hunt. He had left one of his personal guards to watch Brendon, but Brendon generally needed little watching. He was able to get into Selig's room and gather my weapons, warm clothes, a tinder box, and the letter from Pete into a saddlebag. He tucked this into a corner, but he had no real way of getting it out on his own.  
  
The guard didn't want to leave the warmth of the hearth to stand in the chilly hut while Brendon visited with me, but he agreed to do it anyway. I was ready when they arrived. Brendon entered first, followed by the guard. I had been able to pull the ring out of the floor and stood hidden beside the door with the chain in my hands. When the guard stepped inside, I looped the chain over his head and twisted it tight. He struggled, but I kneed him in the back and he collapsed, and I was able to give his head a sharp twist. The cracking of bone was audible.  
  
I slumped down to the floor against the wall of the hut and Brendon stepped over the body to pick the locks on my manacles. I heard him mumble, "Thank you, Ryan," under his breath, and even then, shocked at what I had done, it came as no great surprise. Brendon sat next to me and rubbed my hands until I came to myself again, more or less. He watched as I stumbled over to his unlucky guard and whispered a hasty prayer. I had killed the man in cold blood; it was the least I could do for him. Then we stripped him and I put on his Skaldi garb. Brendon rubbed ash in my hair and on my skin, and then we walked back to the great hall.  
  
We had to stop at one of the lesser halls for food before we went to Selig's room to fetch the saddlebag Brendon had stashed. We were lucky, and no one questioned us. Brendon was a common enough sight around the steading, if unwanted, and I must have made a fair enough Skaldi. In Selig's room, I hurriedly put on my vambraces, and Brendon helped to tangle my hair around the hilt of my sword to hide where I carried it on my back. Lastly, I put on my belt and daggers again and felt almost like a proper Cassiline. At least I was armed.  
  
Finally we made our way to the stable. Again, they didn't question us. Brendon had a pony there, from Tyson, and it was easy enough for me to claim a horse. We headed up the mountain trail, following Selig's path. It was cold, and when we made it around the lake, we realized that we had forgotten a tent. It was too late, and far too risky to go back. Brendon beat himself up about it, but it didn't matter. There were a hundred other ways for us to die. The lack of a tent was the least of them.  
  
We followed Selig's trail until we were out of sight from the steading, then we veered off into the woods and headed west. We forgot about the likelihood of guards at the border of Selig's territory, and when two of them popped up out of the snow practically under our feet, we were all frozen for a moment. They were definitely confused for a minute by my presence, an unknown Skaldi warrior leading Selig's prize D'Angeline away. I took the advantage. With a mumbled curse, I drew my sword and charged.  
  
I got them both and we continued unchallenged.  
  
The snow was deep, and we would stop to rest the horses briefly. They were working hard, but we kept going until there was only a little light through the trees. We made a fire, then tended the horses. Brendon fed them and gave them water while I dug through the pack. I found a wool cloak and proceeded to make a bed out of pine boughs. With the few furs and hides we had, the cloak would do for a blanket.  
  
"We should sleep close tonight, Brendon, for warmth," I suggested. My cheeks flamed, and he actually smiled at me.  
  
" _That_ embarasses you?" he asked, and I could hear the laughter underneath that he tried to keep down.  
  
"There's not much left of my vows to hold on to," I said sadly.  
  
"I'm sorry, Spencer. I won't tease you, I promise."  
  
We sat together next to the fire and ate pottage made in the same pot that the horses drank from. We slept piled under every bit of fabric and hide we had, cuddled up to one another, and it was warm enough, if only just. We were stiff and cold in the morning, but we broke camp and travelled fast.  
  
On the third day out from Waldemar Selig's steading, I climbed on top of a snowy ridge to try to better gauge our heading, and it crumbled beneath my feet. I tumbled probably twenty feet, coming to a stop in a breathless heap at the bottom. Brendon peered down at me while I checked myself for injuries and for my weapons. My daggers were both still in place, but my sword stuck out of the snow half way up the ridge. It took almost an hour to climb back up. I kept sliding back down, and by the time I reached the top I was exhausted, and flopped on my back at Brendon's feet.  
  
"We have to keep going," I panted.  
  
"At least the horse are rested," Brendon supplied helpfully.  
  
***  
  
From there on out we were on edge, jumpy. It had almost been too easy. We had literally walked out of Waldemar Selig's steading, and no one had come for us.  
  
I showed Brendon how to use the shield we had taken from the guard. Cassilines didn't use shields, but there was nothing to say that Brendon couldn't, since we had one. It made us both uneasy, though, thinking of Brendon having to use it.  
  
The next day it snowed, making it rougher on the horses, and harder for us to see. It was Brendon who heard them coming, snatches of a Skaldi war chant in the gusting wind. We circled around, ready to make a stand. We ended up in a clearing near a promontory of rock. I gave Brendon the shield, and he pressed back while I drew my sword and walked to the middle of the clearing to wait.  
  
It had taken four days. Four days for seven of Selig's best--his fastest riders, the best trackers, to find us. They stopped, arranged in semicircle at the edge of the clearing. I stood in the middle, in the Cassiline defensive pose, my sword crossed high above my head.  
  
Then I threw it down and I surrendered.  
  
Selig's men laughed. Four of them dismounted, one circled around toward Brendon, and the last two stayed where they were. I clasped my hands on top of my head and waited until the nearest Skaldi reached me and actually poked at me with the tip of his sword.  
  
I moved quickly, bashing the first Skaldi in the face with a vambrace before getting my daggers in hand. The one rider did get to Brendon, and I heard Brendon's gasp as he realized he was one of Tyson's. He was surprised, and the man was able to get his arm around Brendon and put a dagger to his throat.  
  
"Selig wants you alive!"  
  
I already had two of the Skaldi down, but a third moved toward me.  
  
"Don't listen to them, Spencer!" Brendon yelled.  
  
Brendon stomped on the Skaldi's foot, struggling as hard as he could. Then, suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Brendon produce the dagger we had taken from the guard at the steading and stab Tyson's man. I couldn't spare a moment to see how it turned out, there were still two Skaldi left on foot and another mounted. The rider saw it though, and turned away from me and toward Brendon.  
  
And he threw his spear. Brendon blocked the spear with the shield, but it knocked him off his feet. The shield cracked, with the spear stuck in the middle. The Skaldi dismounted and drew his sword. It dragged a wordless cry from my throat, and I dispatched the last two in a flurry of dagger strikes as I fought to get closer to a riderless horse. I snatched up my sword, and just as I mounted, the last Skaldi turned, hesitating. Behind him I could see Brendon struggling to get the shield off, and I kicked the horse into action. It was too close, and too fast, and the horse stumbled in the snow and fell. I went down with him.  
  
That was good enough for the Skaldi. He turned back to Brendon and raised his sword above his head, ready to bring it down two-handed. I threw my sword with all the strength left in me, and his own slipped uselessly out of his hands as he slumped to the ground. The tip of my sword protruded from the Skaldi's chest. I scrambled to where Brendon crouched next to the rock, still frantically tugging at the straps of the shield. I pulled my sword free and went to help Brendon get untangled.  
  
"There's blood in your hair," he commented almost matter-of-factly.  
  
"We have to keep moving," I said. I didn't know what else to say.  
  
We took anything we could use: food, water, more blankets, a pack horse. In the end, we took two of the Skaldi horses and left the others. We kept Brendon's pony; he was hardier, a better choice in the mountains.  
  
We followed the riverbed for a while. It left no trail, but we were wet and cold and exhausted in no time. Brendon took the lead for a while, walking alongside his tired horse. It got windy again, and it was brutal with no shelter, just rock and thin trees. Brendon stopped, and I looked up at what seemed like a wall of stone. He stood there for a long moment, his head cocked, before he stepped forward and walked straight into a cave. Brendon's head whipped around, the look on his face a mixture of relief and excitement.  
  
"Give me a torch!" he said entirely too gleefully for how tired we both were.  
  
I couldn't suppress a sigh and shook my head. I was stiff and sore when I dismounted, and I saw a flash of concern pass over Brendon's face. We led the horses to an overhang in the rock, I lit a torch, and Brendon went in. I could hear his excited commentary from where I stood with the horses. The cave was empty. There were no signs of animals, but there were the remains of an ancient campfire--even a tiny hole up above in the rocks for smoke to escape. It was perfect.  
  
I was in a fog. Brendon tended the horses, gathered branches, started the fire. Brendon laid out the furs and blankets. I let him do it all, and he didn't ask or comment on it. It was warmer on the floor of the cave than in the snow, and we weren't shivering for once. I came back to myself a little when we sat down to eat. There was plenty of food, what with the supplies we had taken from the Skaldi recovery party.  
  
Brendon cleaned a cut on my cheek and the gash in my skull that he had noticed just as the fighting ended. He made an assessing face, pleased when I passed him a skin of mead that actually had mead in it, not water. He washed my wounds in it, then took a drink.  
  
"How bad are the wounds you're hiding?" he asked thoughtfully, with a tilt to his head that I knew meant I wouldn't get away with brushing him off.  
  
"That obvious?" I sighed.  
  
"Don't be an idiot; let me see," he demanded.  
  
I shrugged, but I ended up taking off everything on top--all my layers of fur and wool, right down to the skin. My torso was bruised, and there was a nasty gash in my side above my hip that was still seeping a little blood. Brendon hissed between his teeth.  
  
"Spencer, that needs stitches."  
  
I took a drink of the mead myself.  
  
"There's a kit in the pack," I told him, gesturing to our things.  
  
Brendon did the stitches, and by the time he was finished I had consumed a healthy portion of the mead. I craned my neck to see the rough black line in my side. It was inexpert to be sure, but it would hold, and I was grateful for it. I gave Brendon the mead.  
  
"You did a great job." I meant more than just the stitches, and he knew it.  
  
"I don't want to talk about it," he said softly. He pressed his fingers against my lips to silence me, but then he took them away and kissed me instead.  
  
My lips parted in shock, but it was a tentative kiss. Brendon didn't push, he only offered what comfort he had to give. I slid my arms around his waist, and Brendon kissed me harder. I was in awe, and as my hands slid over his skin I was filled with wonder. He was a highly trained and experienced courtesan--a servant of Naamah--and I was an innnocent. Brendon shuddered as I touched him, writhing and arching. It ground our bodies together, and I cried out, suddenly overcome. Brendon followed me over the edge, quivering like a bowstring, then pulling me down for more kisses.  
  
Afterward I got up and walked a little ways away and stood alone. I had broken my last vow as a Cassiline. I had thought that at least that one I would have been able to keep. How was I to have known that my ward was one such as Brendon? He lay in the furs by the fire, and I knew he kept an eye on me; they glittered in the dim light.  
  
"We're dreaming, Spencer," he said softly. "This is a dream, and we'll wake up tomorrow and it will all be over."  
  
"My vows..." I began lamely. "Without the strength of my vows, I don't have the strength to go on, Brendon."  
  
"I understand. Am I not Naamah's servant and Kushiel's chosen? I understand vows, Spencer."  
  
I went back to sit with him at the fire. My side was bleeding a little again, and Brendon found some clean cloth in our refreshed supplies to fashion a bandage.  
  
"It's not only pain that pleases you," I remarked shyly, with my head ducked and hunched in on myself. I was half surprised he heard me. "I didn't know."  
  
"No. Is that what you thought?" Brendon replied with a poorly-suppressed snort. "I belong to Naamah as well as Kushiel."  
  
He sounded bitter. I watched as he snatched the diamond from around his throat and hurled it against the cave wall. I let him stew over it for a while, but then I got up and fetched it. There was no use in throwing away something as valuable as that; we might need it later. I swept Brendon's hair out of the way and tied the cord around his neck. I brushed my fingers down his spine when I was done.  
  
"I'm sorry your marque wasn't finished. It's beautiful." Brendon's head drooped, making his shoulder blades stand out starkly against his thin frame. I sighed, too close to him; raising goose bumps and making him shiver. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--" I shook my head and started over, whispering. "I'm glad it was you."  
  
Brendon's head whipped up and he turned to look at me. I had no idea what he was thinking. I couldn't read anything in his eyes, or in the way he held his body.  
  
"We should sleep," he said finally.  
  
I simply nodded and arranged myself carefully on the furs. Brendon curled up next to me as he had been doing for all of our journey so far. We fell into an easy sleep, and when we woke, the fire had burned itself down to embers. We didn't speak to each other of the night; there was no point. We just got ready to leave.  
  
As I went to leave the cave to pack the horses, something seemed to glow in the light. Etched in the rock above the mouth of the cavern was Elua's sigil. I stood and stared silently. Beside me, Brendon gaped.  
  
"They stopped here. The Companions," he gasped.  
  
"This is a sacred place," I said solemnly. Brendon nodded in agreement.  
  
"Let's go home."  
  
Everything clicked into place. I was ready.  
  
***  
  
We pushed ourselves harder than ever after the cave. We were careful to avoid any steadings, and reached the Camaeline range without incident. We had to make a decision at that point--there was no easy way across. To the north, the Rhenus River was too deep too ford. The northern passes were too close to d'Aiglemort's people. We chose the southernmost pass.  
  
Of course, when we got there we were not alone. Skaldi raiders were camped on the open plain, guarding the pass. Selig had us cornered like rats in a trap. There were too many of them for us to consider trying what we had done before. We had to go up the mountain.  
  
We backtracked along the base of the mountain and eventually found a goat track. It was hardly a trail at all, but we had no other choice and we started up. We soon had to dismount and just let the horses follow us as best they could, finding their own footing. It wasn't long before we were climbing.  
  
Brendon's horse fell that first day. He slipped and fell right off a narrow escarpment, taking everything he carried with him. It was a hard loss, but we were glad that we had decided to keep the pony; he was surer footed by far. At least Brendon had not been riding.  
  
We were relieved when we reached the summit. It was easier to go down, but also more dangerous. We lost my horse on that side of the mountain. He stepped in a pocket of snow, breaking his leg. This loss was no easier for us to handle than the first. In fact, it probably would have been easier if my horse had fallen because then I wouldn't have had to put him down myself.  
  
We finally descended into Camlach in the dim light of dusk. We had little luck, though. d'Aiglemort's allies promptly found us that night. It was a small scouting party, and they were clearly perplexed at our appearance. Were we D'Angeline? Were we Skaldi? Or were we some bastard mix heretofore unseen and unacknowledged in Camlach? They were not d'Aiglemort's men, at least. We had that going for us.  
  
We were tired and unprepared when the scouting party came upon us. I started to go for my daggers but Brendon knocked me over in his unsubtle effort to prevent me. I understood his reasons, once I was on the ground. A Cassiline was distinctive. A Cassiline and a night-blooming flower, together, out by the Skaldi border, were dead.  
  
We were asked to identify ourselves, and before I could even draw breath, Brendon spun our tale. We were cousins; our village had been destroyed by Skaldi raiders. It was plausible, I assumed, and it must have been, for they offered to take us back to Bois-le-Garde, nearby. The leader of the scouting party ordered one of their number to ride back with a message for the Marquis. And that was when I knew they suspected us. The message was too specific. Too neat.  
  
I pulled a dagger on the leader, forcing him to dismount. We took two of their horses and scattered the rest before we headed south as fast as we could. We hoped for one of the great roads that criss-crossed Terre d'Ange, and by dawn, we had. We reached Eisheth's Way just as the sky started to turn pink, and we followed it westward, looking for a side road. It took an hour to find one, and we took it, the sound of hoofbeats behind us.  
  
Within a mile we met a wagon. Practically fell on it, more like. A little girl poked her head out of the back, and I knew they were Yeshuites when I saw the man, his curls hanging low under his hat.  
  
I spoke with him, which surprised Brendon. There was a sort of relationship between the Cassiline Brotherhood and the Yeshuites. Of all of Elua's Companions, Cassiel never broke faith with the One God, he merely took on the duty that the One God had neglected--to love the son of Yeshua's blood. The Yeshuites don't quite see it that way, but it was good enough. I quickly explained that we were free D'Angelines escaped from captivity and asked the man if he could shelter us. Even in our Skaldi rags the Yeshuite could recognize me as a Cassiline. I watched as he weighed his options, considering his wife, and not one, but two little girls in the back of a wagon.  
  
After a moment of silent contemplation, he agreed. And this was how we came to travel with the Taavi family: Joseph, Christine, and their two girls, aged six and eight.  
  
***  
  
Brendon and I turned our horses loose. We were loathe to do it, but the Yeshuite wagon had no need of them, and extra animals would be too difficult to explain away. We did keep the pony, though, tying him behind the wagon.  
  
The scouts found us an hour later. Or, rather, they didn't. Joseph and Christine hid us in back of the wagon under skeins of wool and bolts of fabric. He was a weaver, and she was a dyer, and their inventory made excellent cover. Joseph politely answered the riders' questions. They were bound for L'Arene, where they had kin. They had found the pony wandering alone and packless some hours before on Eisheth's Way. No, they hadn't seen anyone else. Yes, of course, they were more than welcome to look in wagon.  
  
It wasn't necessary. The riders moved on, and we were safe.  
  
We stayed with the Taavi's for three days. They were kind, and shared with us whatever they had. The Yeshuites had been blamed for a fever in their village, even though it was clear that it had come from a courier from the City. Joseph and Christine had simply decided to leave. The bit about going to family in L'Arene had been true. They didn't want to go to the City, but they were willing to take us as far as they could. We were happy to be in their debt.  
  
Being with a family was strange to Brendon. He had been given over to the Night Court at such a young age he could barely even remember who his own parents were, let alone what it was like to have lived with them. I remembered, though. I knew how to play and tease and tickle, and Joseph's girls giggled and squealed. Brendon eyed me suspiciously, as if my behavior was so foreign to him, so unlike my usual self--and I guess it was. I was a Cassiline Brother, after all. We didn't exactly have a reputation for tenderness. But when I smiled at the little girls, they giggled harder, and I could see Brendon relax, the faintest smile on his own lips.  
  
We separated outside of City, where we could walk from the crossroads. Brendon offered them the diamond as repayment for their kindness. Joseph refused.  
  
"It's too much, Brendon. We didn't expect anything for helping you," he said gently. Christine nodded beside him.  
  
"You're stuck with it," I mumbled, and Brendon shot me a look.  
  
We gave them the pony instead. The girls loved him. They both shouted with joy and danced around the pony in circles. Joseph and Christine smiled at them indulgently before urging them back into the wagon and continuing on their way.  
  
Brendon and I talked as we walked toward the City. We had been gone a long time, and completely out of contact. We didn't know who was in power, or who was in on the conspiracy. We didn't have family, and we didn't know who trust.  
  
"Ryan," Brendon suggested.  
  
"I don't like it."  
  
"Whoever we go to will hold our lives in their hands. I trust Ryan with mine," Brendon argued.  
  
"How much gold could he get for it?" I wondered bitterly.  
  
Brendon punched me square in the face. It was a direct shot, and much harder than I ever expected from Brendon. It left me reeling and clutching at my nose in shock.  
  
"Ryan is my friend, Spencer! He was my friend when no one else was, and he never asked for anything," Brendon spat. "Do you have a better idea?"  
  
"The captain of the king's Cassiline guard?"  
  
"Can you be sure? You disappeared from the City with a servant of Naamah, leaving a slaughtered household behind. What poison has been spread in our absence? Are you sure of a welcome by the Brotherhood?"  
  
"No one would dare suggest--it never even occured to me--"  
  
"Of course it wouldn't," Brendon said, gentler. "What is easier to believe, simple murder or a conspiracy?"  
  
We continued on our way in silence. I was still smarting from the blow to my face, and I think Brendon was sulking over my opinion of Ryan. We still had to pass through the gate to the City, but that turned out to be relatively easy. Brendon gave the guards false names--the same ones he had chosen for us in Camlach--and the only other thing they asked of us was to stick out our tongues for examination. It was something of a strange request, but we did it and they waved us through. We believed then, as we hadn't before, that there was a sickness in the City.  
  
We made our way to Night's Doorstep and stood in an alley across from a tavern. We couldn't go inside; they knew us both there. Our only other option was to go to Ryan's stable.  
  
There were two boys attending the stable overnight. I drew my sword and brandished it at them threateningly while Brendon told one of them to go find Ryan and tell him to come.  
  
"If you tell anyone about us, or if you're overheard, your friend dies," I growled at the little one determined to take the message. We could hear him running in the street, terror giving him speed. I put my sword away guiltily, and we waited.  
  
After a little while, Ryan entered the stable and closed the door. Brendon threw himself into his arms, shaking and sobbing and completely useless. I drew my sword again to guard the door.  
  
"All right?" Ryan asked in a low voice, barely more than a whisper. Brendon nodded vigorously, and Ryan turned to the boys. "You never saw anything, and you never heard anything. If you talk, I'll call the dromonde on you and curse--"  
  
The boys ran away breathlessly, tossing terrified glances at me and my sword as they passed. Ryan really looked at me then, blinking in comprehension. I smiled at him, and his eyebrows arched up in amused disbelief.  
  
"It's not safe here; I'm taking you to my house," Ryan announced. "You've both been tried and convicted in absentia for murder."  
  
***  
  
Ryan took us to the house he had always lived in, but now it seemed that he lived there alone. His mother was dead of the fever, which first appeared with white spots on the tongue.  
  
Ryan sent for food for us from the tavern and sat back to watch us eat. It was a luxury to eat and be warm and safe, and I almost felt guilty for it. We took turns telling Ryan our story, and to his credit, he never interrupted.  
  
"d'Aiglemort thinks he can do it, but he underestimates the Skaldi," Brendon finished.  
  
"Your lives are forfeit if anyone knows you're here," Ryan said soberly.  
  
"Why would they think we did it?" I grumbled around a mouthful of food.  
  
"Well," Ryan sat back and stretched thoughtfully before he continued. "The popular theory is that Navarro L'Envers paid you."  
  
We sat there aghast.  
  
"And parliament wanted a conviction," Brendon added bitterly. Ryan only nodded.  
  
In the end, we decided our best course of action was to write a letter to Patrick, the king's poet, and personal friend to Prince Gerard. Brendon scribbled a few lines of fawning nonsense in D'Angeline, then a few more in Cruithne, structured to look like poetry.  
  
I didn't know Brendon spoke Cruithne. D'Angeline. Caerdicci. Skaldic. The Cruithne didn't really come as much of a surprise. I had seen enough of Brendon to know that by now.  
  
Ryan took the letter to the palace, and we waited. Brendon was silent and tense until he returned. I felt the same, and had no reason for it to change.  
  
"You were right to trust Ryan," I told him in confidence. "I'll leave you alone; I'm sure you want to talk."  
  
Brendon looked at me for a long moment.  
  
"Whatever happens, Spencer, you kept your vow. You brought me home safe."  
  
I left them then, and went to sleep. I was exhausted, but restless at the same time. It took a long time for me to settle down, even in the comfort of a real bed. It was weird to sleep alone after so long.  
  
I was further frustrated in the morning. I took a bath--another luxury, and welcome, to be sure. But my hair was hopelessly tangled in Skaldi braids. Brendon sat with me and helped work out the mess while we waited for word from Patrick.  
  
We didn't hear from him. Instead, he came. A carriage arrived at Ryan's house, and I snatched up my gear and hustled Brendon to the back, ready to leave if it wasn't him. The voice, however, was unmistakable.  
  
"Delaunay would be proud," he said to Brendon. It was Patrick. He was pale, and thinner, and had obviously been sick, but it was him.  
  
"We need to talk to the Prince, or the Admiral--"  
  
"The Skaldi plan to invade, d'Aiglemort has betrayed--"  
  
We spoke over each other and stumbled to an awkward stop.  
  
"I know you're no traitor, Brendon," Patrick said confidently. "I'm taking you to an audience with Gerard."  
  
Brendon had several moments of frantic uncertainty.  
  
"You won't go alone," I reassured him. Ryan agreed. So it was the four of us who went to the palace.  
  
***  
  
We told our story again for Patrick in the carriage on the way to the palace. He believed us, of that I am sure. We were met by guards in House Courcel livery--the dauphin's personal guard--who checked us for weapons. I just handed them my bundle of gear, and Brendon had nothing. Patrick took my things from the guard. He was the king's poet. He was trusted, above suspicion.  
  
Neither Brendon nor I had ever met the prince before. We were led into his chambers, a little nervous. We found him to be cool and impassive, pale and dark and serious and contradictory.  
  
"Your Highness," Patrick bowed, "thank you for this audience." The prince nodded dismissively and turned to us.  
  
"You stand convicted of killing Gabriel Delaunay. How do you plead?" Brendon gave him the message; the black boar, elder brother. Prince Gerard seemed unimpressed. "Is that all?"  
  
"I'm innocent," Brendon stammered. "Spencer is innocent. We were betrayed by d'Aiglemort! He's conspiring with Waldemar Selig and plans to invade!"  
  
"So you lay this charge on d'Aiglemort?" the prince asked coolly.  
  
"Not him alone," Brendon answered cautiously, "Pete Shahrizai."  
  
Brendon told our story yet again. I showed the prince our old Skaldi hides, and the dagger we had taken from my Skaldi guard.  
  
"That's all?"  
  
"Summon Pete then!" Brendon almost yelled before he caught himself.  
  
"He is not at home," the prince replied. "Why would he let you live?"  
  
Ryan and I spoke together in our urgency to convince the prince. He let me continue.  
  
"For a scion of Kushiel to kill one marked by his hand, it would bring a curse about his House," I explained carefully. "Also, it's unlucky to murder a priest."  
  
"He didn't kill them, but he didn't think they would survive either," Ryan added.  
  
The prince then took the time to question the guard. We had been turned away that night. There had to have been someone who had seen us, and remembered.  
  
"You're telling the truth, aren't you?" Prince Gerard finally acceded. "What of L'Envers?"  
  
"He has nothing to do with it," Brendon replied easily.  
  
We watched as Prince Gerard steeled his resolve. We brought news of impending war. That was never easy for a ruler to accept.  
  
Finally, he rose, and beckoned for us to follow him. We all followed the prince into a bedroom guarded by two elderly Cassilines. I had forgotten about them, and was careful not to meet their eyes so that they would not see my guilt. The king lay in a bed before us. I had thought he was dead, given all the others who had fallen to the fever in the City. He wasn't dead, but he was barely breathing.  
  
"So lies my grandfather, the king," said the prince forlornly. "He's had another stroke. I don't know how long it could be until someone tries to take control away from me."  
  
Ryan broke the spell of the sickroom, gasping and pulling at his collar.  
  
" _Three days_ ," he choked. It was the dromonde, so we knew it was true. The king would be dead in three days' time.  
  
The prince's guard suddenly appeared in the doorway, catching our attention. With him was another of the palace guards, one of Patrick's. He knew us. He had seen us that night and thought nothing of it. The relief washed over me; Prince Gerard had to believe.  
  
"You have done us a great service, and I am grateful. Your names will be cleared and your status reinstated," he told us.  
  
"No," Brendon said. I turned to him, shocked, and I saw Ryan and Patrick do the same. "The advantage is that d'Aiglemort doesn't know that you know he is a traitor, Your Highness. Gather your trusted peers for counsel while the advantage is still yours."  
  
"That leaves you and Spencer as murderers," Patrick reminded him. Brendon nodded, looking at the floor.  
  
"I am already condemned for breaking my vows," I added. "I face a greater judgement than Terre d'Ange."  
  
Gerard placed us in the custody of the throne. We were contained, and we were controlled, and the prince could do with us as he would. The people of Terre d'Ange didn't have to know any of the details.  
  
***  
  
Ryan was right. The old king died three days later. We didn't hear much; we were confined in the palace with the prince's personal guard. What little we did hear came from them, and from the chirurgeon who treated my wounds.  
  
Everyone in Terre d'Ange was uneasy. Reports of Skaldi raiding increased. d'Aiglemort and a few other Camaeline nobles didn't attend the funeral under the auspices of guarding the border. Nor did they attend the hasty coronation.  
  
Patrick was allowed to visit with us, but we were left with too much time to think and remember. Brendon was caught up worrying about Pete. He forgets--they all do--that I am a priest as well as a warrior. I told him to go to the temple of Kushiel, for it is Kushiel who Brendon blames when he hates what he is. Somewhat to my surprise, he went. When he returned he was calm, but he would not speak of it.  
  
Ryan told us that Gerard planned to go to his country estate to mourn. And that he was summoning a council of peers. It was as good a cover as any, and we were to go as well. there weren't many: Patrick, Ray de Trevalion, cousin to lost Prince Mikey, Jon de Somerville, Commander of the Royal Army, Navarro L'Envers, Roxanne de mereliot of Eisande, Tibault of Siovale, and to my relief and horror, the Cassiline Prefect. All the provinces were represented except Kusheth and Camlach. For those, there was simply no one to trust.  
  
We were met with an outcry of surprise and joy. There were indeed some in Terre d'Ange who thought us innocent. I went to the Prefect and knelt at his feet.  
  
"I am in violation of my vows," I admitted. "I give myself over to your justice."  
  
"Brother Spencer, you stand condemned of betraying the household you swore to protect and serve. This is no mere violation," the Prefect replied.  
  
"He is innocent," Prince Gerard declared. "They are both innocent."  
  
The council listened as we told our story yet again. Navarro L'Envers was skeptical, but Ray de Trevalion believed us. They all wondered why d'Aiglemort wanted Delaunay dead. The Prince had a thought:  
  
"I asked for his help in something d'Aiglemort may have believed was dangerous to his plans." We all stared at him. "At sixteen, I was promised to the Cruarch of Alba's heir, the Prince of Cruithne, Frank."  
  
"You want to wed the blue boy?" L'Envers squawked incredulously.  
  
"He is the rightful heir to Alba," Gerard said plainly.  
  
***  
  
The council argued for some time over the course of action. Some said Gerard should marry d'Aiglemort and secure his loyalty. Others said he should take Pete into custody, or bring back the exiles and send Prince Mikey's guard to Camlach. It was all very confusing. In the end, they decided to use the Cassiline Brotherhood to form a network of couriers for secure passage of information around Terre d'Ange.  
  
They then discussed the state of things on Alba. Frank, his mother, and his sisters got out and found refuge with the Dalriada. Many of them thought it was likely that he could retake the throne from his cousin. Terre d'Ange could help if only the fleet could cross the Strait. That was the problem: it couldn't. The Master of the Straits had not given them permission to cross. And that, apparently, had something to do with the mysterious message.  
  
" _When the Black Boar rules in Alba, Elder Brother will accede_."  
  
The tribes of Alba were divided into four groups: red bull, white mare, golden hind, and black boar. Frank's people were the Cullach Gorrym, black boar. It meant that the Master of the Straits would allow passage if Frank was somehow able to reclaim Alba.  
  
Prince Gerard felt that the Dalriada were likely to help if they knew. That became the next issue: he didn't know of anyone trustworthy who spoke Cruithne and was able to go. There was Patrick, of course, but he had been sick.  
  
Patrick suggested Brendon.  
  
We were in shock.  
  
"I'm trained as a servant of Naamah, not an ambassador," Brendon protested. Besides that, he was afraid. I could see it all over him.  
  
"The Cruithne are not the Skaldi," Patrick tried, reassuringly. "We would not ask if it wasn't urgent."  
  
I knew what was going to happen. I knew what I had to do. I stood then, and bowed to Prince Gerard, but then I turned my attention to Brendon.  
  
"We have survived worse, Brendon. I'll go with you. I've sworn it, after all."  
  
My announcement created a spark in Brendon. Unfortunately, it lit a fire under the Prefect.  
  
"I am glad you are innocent in Delaunay's death. However," he paused and fixed his glare on me, "you have confessed that you are in violation of your vows and remanded yourself to justice. You must atone in order to find salvation."  
  
I knew I just stood there blinking at him before I found my voice again.  
  
"I am sworn to the Delaunay household. If I am to find salvation, it will be in honoring that vow."  
  
"You are relieved of your vow to the Delaunay household," the Prefect replied casually. I was stricken.  
  
"Please, no!"  
  
"What transgressions have you committed?" the Prefect asked. Of course he would force me to confess in front of everyone.  
  
"I failed to safeguard my charge, murder, I drew my sword only to threaten," I admitted. There was more, and I looked at Brendon for a moment, hoping it wasn't written plainly on my face, or his.  
  
"I cannot allow it."  
  
I looked up at the ceiling. The room fell quiet and everyone was very still. I looked again at Brendon, then turned to Gerard.  
  
"Would you accept my sword in your service as protector of Brendon?"  
  
"Do it and be damned!" the Prefect cried. "Cassiel's vows bind for a lifetime and beyond!"  
  
Gerard sat expressionless.  
  
"I accept your service. I grieve to cross purpose, but I must follow the precepts of Elua. We are all free to choose our course."  
  
The Prefect bowed, making a gesture of breaking.  
  
"I declare you anathema, Spencer Smith. You are in Gerard's service now."  
  
"Good," Gerard cut in. "Brendon, do you accept the charge to carry my words to the Prince of Cruithne?"  
  
"Yes," he said simply.  
  
"Good," Gerard said again. "Now our only problem is how to get Brendon to Admiral Walker."  
  
"Where?" I asked cautiously.  
  
"Kusheth."  
  
Of course.  
  
Ryan, however, had an idea.  
  
***  
  
We would take the Tsingani route to Kusheth. The Tsingani were well-known as horse traders and breeders. Their primary center was in Eisande, but there was another, almost as big, in Kusheth. Ryan's plan consisted of making a journey to Kusheth along Tsingani roads, seeking his people. When they were found, we would beg for their aid in travelling as horse traders to Point d'Oeste, where Admiral Walker's fleet was beached. We would be isolated and vulnerable, but no one would expect us to do it, so there we had it.  
  
The plan left a week for us to make arrangements. It also left time for us to talk. Brendon spoke often with Ray de Trevalion. He had been Delaunay's friend, and so Brendon felt some measure of comfort in his company.  
  
"Patrick said that the court seized Delaunay's belongings," de Trevalion remarked one day. "Do you have anything left, Brendon?"  
  
"Only the diamond," he replied. "Most of my things went to the marquist."  
  
de Trevalion looked alarmed, and indeed, even I had forgotten about Brendon's incomplete marque.  
  
"I'll see your names cleared," de Trevalion assured us both. "And you'll never want for anything. I'll make sure of that."  
  
"Maybe we'll get a reward from the king?" Ryan put in. We were all startled by his sudden speech, and it was all I could do to hide the distaste welling up inside me. Ryan merely grinned laconically. "If you are to travel among the Tsingani, you must begin to think like one."  
  
"It's better than thinking like the Skaldi," Brendon mumbled in Skaldi.  
  
"Will you teach me to speak Cruithne?" I asked him softly.  
  
"I don't know," he said with a sly grin. "Will I have to chain you up?" My voice stuck in my throat, and for a moment I was unable to reply.  
  
"No," I finally choked out. "Besides, I couldn't leave you to suffer some dried up old stick of a Cassiline. And I, at least, may hope to survive his companionship without being driven mad."  
  
"Hope so," Ryan added. I don't know if he liked me any more than I liked him, but it could definitely be worse.  
  
For four more days, Brendon studied about the Cruithne and Alba. Prince Gerard summoned him then; there was someone to see Brendon. It was the marquist.  
  
When Brendon saw him, he knelt at his feet, tears streaking his face while he kissed the marquist's hands. Bob fussed, mumbling about their unfulfilled contract.  
  
They were led to a private room where Bob's things were all laid out. Brendon immediately stripped and lay down on the table impatiently. I laughed at him, but he just glared up at me over his crossed arms, and I really couldn't keep it up. I had followed, of course, and I stayed while Bob worked, but I kept a respectful, unobtrusive distance. Brendon was awash in pleasure, and when Bob finally finished, he was a free D'Angeline.  
  
Brendon stood naked in front of a mirror, gazing over his shoulder at his completed marque. It was stunning; he was stunning. It made him so happy.  
  
In the morning our gear was ready. We had horses, food, pack mules, and new clothes. They were kind of Ryan's usual, lots of colors, including bright saffron travelling cloaks for himself and for Brendon. Brendon and Ryan were to be cousins. Brendon could sort of pass for Tsingani. I, on the other hand, would be a mendacant, with a gray cloak very much like my old Cassiline one, except for the opalescent lining.  
  
It had been Patrick's idea.  
  
I could't pass as Tsingani, and we needed something to explain. Mendacants were wandering storytellers from Eisande.  
  
"Can you lie?" Patrick asked me as he handed me my new clothes. I swung the cloak over my shoulders.  
  
"I'll learn."  
  
"Start with this." Prince Gerard stood at the door with his Cassiline guard and an armful of my gear. "It belongs to your family, not the Brotherhood. Figure out why a mendacant should bear Cassiline arms." He then gave Brendon a ring, the seal of House Courcel. "Give it to Frank. I always wear it; he'll know it's mine."  
  
***  
  
It felt good to be riding again. Ryan pointed out tiny signs that indicated the Tsingani roads, like a split twig planted in the ground. Eventually, we all could spot them. As we rode, Ryan talked, and Brendon and I learned Tsingani ways. I also learned Cruithne, and Brendon hadn't been lying when he said it was more difficult than Skaldi. It bore little resemblance to D'Angeline, and there were many sounds that I had difficulty producing. Brendon, though, he read. Gerard had given him a book. Prince Rolande's journal.  
  
As we approached theTsingani horse fair, there was an increase in the number of roads, and increased traffic. We passed caravans, and we also noted a change in Ryan. It was him who they greeted, and he shouted back, waving his ugly velvet cap, eyes sparkling.  
  
"You didn't tell me I had to learn Tsingani," I muttered to Brendon from between my teeth as I leaned far over in my saddle.  
  
"I didn't know," he replied.  
  
What I knew of Ryan was limited to what Brendon had told me. His mother had been an outcast. To the Tsingani, virtue was precious, and could be lost in a hundred ways. Foremost was mingling their blood with Others. That was what Ryan's mother did, and she had lost all her worth as a Tsingani woman. These people didn't know that. The women we passed hung out the back of their wagons, flirting outrageously. It seemed shameless, but it was all for show.  
  
We made camp on the outskirts of the horse fair. Ryan wanted his birthright--that was perfectly clear. He was eager to find his grandfather. In the meantime, I told a tale to the children of the camps surrounding us, and I'm sure their gleeful shrieking could be heard across the grounds.  
  
In the morning we went to see Manoj, king of the Tsingani and Ryan's grandfather. He was accepted with open arms, joyous celebration, and no questions asked. We were soon able to tell him how Admiral Walker and the fleet were docked at Point d'Oeste, and with a handful of men and good horses we were sure to make a great bargain. The old man laughed and agreed, and Ryan was one of them.  
  
Ryan joined the drinking and music that night. Brendon wouldn't go, he just sat at the outskirts of the party, watching. That's where I found him.  
  
"I hope he remembers why we're here," I said as I sat down beside him.  
  
"I don't think we're all here for the same reasons," Brendon replied, thoughtful and melancholy.  
  
The next day we saw our promised horses and men. The third day of the fair was traditionally reserved for the actual trade, but we were essentially done already and were free to wander around the fair as we pleased.  
  
We noticed when some Kusheline nobles arrived, careful to avoid them, even though they did not know us. Then we saw a group of Shahrizai, including Pete. Brendon froze, terrified.  
  
" _They will pass and see nothing_ ," Ryan intoned. Indeed, they rode on.  
  
At first there was silence, but then an outcry. The dromonde was only for women, and they knew it when they saw it. The Tsingani vilified him. They railed and cursed and finally cast him out.  
  
I herded Brendon and Ryan out of the tangle of his Tsingani relatives and back to our camp. We met our neighbors again.  
  
"Want to make your name?" I asked. "Get your horses and your things. We're going west."  
  
Our little caravan travelled for four days. On the way I performed for small crowds, to keep up appearances. Ryan was quiet. Brendon sat with him, and they fell asleep together, huddled under a blanket. I found them in the morning, and I looked away. They didn't need me looking in on them, and frankly, I didn't want to. I spoke with Brendon later.  
  
"Spring is coming. How long do you think Selig will wait?" I wondered. Brendon thought for a moment.  
  
"First harvest. But we'll get to the Admiral by tomorrow," he said with false confidence.  
  
We would have made it to the Admiral that next day if we had not been stopped by the Duc de Morhban, the sovereign ruler of Kusheth. He would know Brendon if he saw him, both Ryan and I knew, for he was the nobleman who had held the masque for the longest night when Brendon had been contracted to Pete; the night he had worn the diamond around his throat on a collar and a leash. We tried our best to get around him. We explained that we were bound to trade with the Admiral.  
  
"What does a sailor want with horses? I'll give you two times his offer."  
  
We couldn't accept, of course. I offered up a tale, but he was not interested. He would not let us get to the Admiral.  
  
Brendon finally offered himself. One night. Free passage. No questions.  
  
The offer was accepted.  
  
Brendon went to Andrew Hurley de Morhban. In the morning, Brendon was in new clothes, Kusheline not Tsingani, and wore a patron gift of a ring of black pearls set in silver. I had been summoned to retrieve him, and I could see that he hadn't slept. Neither had I. I had spent much of the night entertaining the household while Brendon had been entertaining their master.  
  
"You're all right?"  
  
"He honored our contract," Brendon answered. He wouldn't say any more. We had been granted free passage throughout Kusheth. Had it been worth it? As we walked through the castle, the pace I kept forced Brendon to hurry to keep up. At length I paused.  
  
"I will never understand why you do what you do and call it pleasure."  
  
Brendon threw back his head and laughed, but it was a cold and mirthless sound.  
  
"With your temper? You should."  
  
"I don't have a temper!" I protested. Brendon laughed again, but there was some humor to it this time.  
  
"Spencer Smith, you have a terrible temper; it's just controlled by Cassiline discipline. I have seen it, and I have seen you lose it. What's it like when you let it go? Is it a relief to surrender to that?" He looked at me searchingly, waiting for me to actually answer him with something meaningful.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"Then you understand."  
  
We met Ryan and the Tsingani in the courtyard. They cheered when they saw us.  
  
"You really did entertain them," Brendon said, astonished. I shrugged.  
  
"What else was I supposed to do?"  
  
"I think you enjoy it, Spencer," he teased.  
  
"I wouldn't go that far."  
  
We followed the coastal road from de Morhban and found the fleet anchored in the mouth of the bay. There were forty ships, and an encampment on the beach. Our party was obvious, and we were received by the Admiral in his tent. Butch Walker, the Admiral of the Royal Fleet of Terre d'Ange, was friend to Gabriel Delaunay. When he saw Brendon, he swept him up in a hug.  
  
"Tell me why you're here. Starting with who killed Delaunay," he demanded.  
  
"We bear a message from the king," Brendon replied, blinking back startled tears.  
  
He told the story again. The Admiral grew angrier and angrier, throwing things around his tent and smashing anything within arms' reach.  
  
"You're not lying?" he asked hopefully. Brendon shook his head sadly and handed over the ring.  
  
"Gerard gave it to me, to show you, and to give to the Prince of Cruithne."  
  
"I'd rather go fight the Skaldi," the Admiral grumbled. "I've tried going to Alba before."  
  
"With how many ships?" Ryan interrupted suddenly.  
  
"Fifteen."  
  
"You only need one. That's what I saw," Ryan assured him. The Admiral was duly skeptical.  
  
"But you must decide quickly. We only have one day," Brendon urged.  
  
The Admiral did deal with the Tsingani. When he was done, Brendon and Ryan went to say goodbye to them. When they came back, the Admiral said he would go to Alba.  
  
***  
  
Admiral Walker left his lieutenant in charge. They were to form a shore brigade, guarding the borders. A quarter of the fleet was to sail up the coast to Azzalle and Trevalion. The rest would stay where they were.  
  
We boarded the flagship. The Admiral gave us to his second in command Sisky-Jean Marchand. We were all a little anxious. We had never even seen the sea, let alone sailed before. It was all very fast. The ship turned, the sails unfurled, and we were underway.  
  
I was sick, vomiting over side for what seemed forever.  
  
"Cassilines aren't fit for the long road," Ryan drawled. I didn't bother to raise my head to glare at him.  
  
"He can start a fire with damp tinder in the middle of a blizzard!" Brendon hissed. "I didn't see any Tsingani in Skaldia."  
  
"We're not stupid."  
  
Ryan wandered off. Brendon stayed with me.  
  
The ship sailed to a point where neither shore was visible, and we were just starting to relax. It was then, of course, that clouds rolled in and the sky grew dark. Waves were coming cross to the breeze, in ways which should have been impossible.  
  
"It's him," said the Admiral.  
  
And it stormed. I made my way to the foredeck where Brendon clung to the mast, crouching over him and doing my best to shelter him. I could see a face upon the water, hear a voice like thunder.  
  
"Who dares cross?"  
  
"I do, you old bastard!" The Admiral yelled into the gale.  
  
"What toll will you pay?"  
  
"Name it!"  
  
I let go of Brendon long enought to yell, "A song!" I couldn't really hear Brendon behind me, but I could see his lips moving, asking me "What song?" Our eyes met and Brendon sang. He sang a song from Tyson's steading, taught to him by Greta and some of the others. It was a song the Master of the Straits could never have heard before; it had never been taken to the sea.  
  
He listened.  
  
The water grew calm, but Brendon kept singing until he was hoarse and I had to hold him up.  
  
"Do you accept the toll?" the Admiral yelled.  
  
"You may pass."  
  
And then it was gone.  
  
Brendon collapsed, and I put him belowdecks with Ryan. I couldn't sit down there for long. I chose to stay above to see the stars.  
  
***

[ Part 3](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/16030.html)


	3. A Lonely Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[vampyreranger](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** A Lonely Place  
 **Band(s):** PATD, FOB, MCR, Cobra, TAI, The Cab, AAR, TYV, Empires, Hey Monday, The Like,  & misc.  
 **Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon (plus Brendon/everybody--there's a lot going on here)  
 **Word Count:** 33517  
 **Rating/Warnings:** R (non-graphic sex, violence, BDSM implied, war, slavery, dub-con implied, secondary character death, torture!)  
 **Summary:** Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)  
 **Notes:** beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).  
  
[BONUS CONTENT](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15207.html)  
Fanmix by [](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/profile)[**lady_deathangel**](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/) and art by [](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/profile)[**clarityhiding**](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/).

A handy reference guide! (i.e. there are a lot of characters)  
[cheat sheet](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14955.html#cutid1)  
  
[Part 1](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15363.html)  
[Part 2](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15794.html)

  
Part 3

The following day we could see the coast of Alba. The Admiral, however, didn't know where to land. We didn't know where the prince was. We did know where Dalriada were. It was another day of sailing, up the coast to Eire.  
  
I stopped vomiting at some point after our encounter with the Master of the Straits. I wasn't exactly comforable sailing, but I was able to do my Cassiline exercises in the prow. I heard when Brendon asked Ryan to speak the dromonde to see where we would land.  
  
Ryan could see only the mist.  
  
"My grandfather was right; it's wrong for me to do it," he cried.  
  
"If you can't see through it, see over it," Brendon suggested.  
  
Ryan climbed the mast. We waited. Finally we heard him shout from the crow's nest.  
  
"There!"  
  
The sailors followed his heading, steering the ship through the mist. We broke through, and we were headed straight for a rocky bay and a reception party on the beach. The Admiral called for a dropped anchor and furled sails. Ryan climbed down the rigging on shaky legs, then we all found places on the deck and stared landward. We saw a dozen men in plaid waving broadswords.  
  
"What do we do?"  
  
"We go to meet them," Brendon declared. "With six men. Plus Ryan and Spencer, and something to offer the Dalriada."  
  
The Admiral quickly made his choices and left the ship with Sisky-Jean. He brought out a coffer filled with silks and gems and spices, and hustled us all into an oar boat. As we gained the shore, we could see the party awaiting us much better. The men reminded me of the Skaldi, a certain wild barbarian quality that made me sit up straighter and prepare to leap off the boat. There was a woman among them, with lines of blue dots along her cheekbones. It was she who spoke when we were close enough to hear.  
  
"Be welcome."  
  
The men sheathed their swords then leaped into the water to help drag in our boat. Brendon stood and introduced himself in Cruithne.  
  
"We seek Frank, the true Cruarch of Alba."  
  
"I am his sister, Charlotte," said the woman with a wide smile. "We have been waiting for you. I had a dream about a swan, and we came here."  
  
"You followed a dream?" Ryan interjected curiously.  
  
" _You_ did, waking dreamer."  
  
"May we meet your brother?" Brendon tried to stay on topic.  
  
"You must meet the twins first, the Lords of the Dalriada," said Charlotte.  
  
We followed the little group of Albans down a narrow track through green hills. We arrived at a great hall of whitewashed stone with seven doors, which guests entered according to rank, apparently. We entered the second door, a great honor. Inside we saw the Twins of the Dalriada, brother and sister on adjoining thrones. Charlotte introduced them as Cassadee and Elliot, then she introduced us.  
  
Brendon offered them the coffer, kneeling in front of the thrones.  
  
In Eiran, Charlotte explained: "They have come to see Frank. They seek audience with the Cruarch."  
  
We could hear Frank coming before we saw him, his halting gait distinctive. With him was an older woman, and two young ones with the same look about them. They must have been his mother and sisters. The Dalriada in the hall fell back, letting them through. They were all marked in blue woad, outlandish swirling designs on their faces, and in Frank's case, down his neck and hands and essentially anywhere we could see.  
  
"You are swan's voice, what does he say?" Frank asked, direct. He sounded hopeful and young. Brendon rose and held out Gerard's signet ring.  
  
"My lord, Gerard de la Courcel, King of Terre d'Ange, would honor the covenant between you."  
  
Frank took the ring.  
  
"What is the price?"  
  
"If you regain the throne of Alba, the Master of the Straits will let you cross," Brendon replied. "The price is your aid in securing the D'Angeline throne from threat of invasion."  
  
Frank looked to the twins.  
  
"What do you say?"  
  
"No," said Elliot. "The risk is too great, and the gain is too little."  
  
His sister wheeled on him.  
  
"You are a coward and a fool!"  
  
"Say what you like," he replied coolly. "Unless we agree, the Dalriada go nowhere. Do you think that Alba will flock to a cripple's standard?"  
  
Frank held out his arms, revealing elaborate blue tattoos the length of both arms all the way to his shoulders.  
  
"They have before," he said simply.  
  
I was impressed by Prince Frank of the Cruithne. He was a head shorter than the Dalriada warriors, but he kept his own head held high. His boots concealed, but one foot was clearly twisted at the ankle, and the stunted foot was bent in upon itself.  
  
We stood by uneasily while the Twins argued. They finally wore each other out.  
  
"This is too great a matter to decide on a moment's whim," Elliot announced to everyone and no one in particular. "We will speak of it again tomorrow."  
  
The great hall was full for the feast. There were the Dalriada, the Albans who had managed to escape with Frank and his family, and most of the sailors brought in from the ship. They all sang songs, which Brendon translated as best he could.  
  
Each of the twins had a champion, who wandered around the hall. Elliot's champion passed by us several times, and jokingly poked at me, challenging. They cleared a space and he waved his sword tauntingly. I caught a glance between Frank and Brendon.  
  
"Let it be seen what manner of sword the D'Angelines bring!" Brendon shouted merrily in Cruithne. "No blood, only to disarm, and let him surrender with honor."  
  
We accepted the terms, and almost immediately the champion swung his sword over his head with a howl. I brought out my daggers, deflected the blade, and spun out of the way. I then moved to the side and brought the hilt of one dagger down on his sword hand, then swept his knees. It all happened very quickly. He fell, his sword spinning from his grip, and once he was on the floor, I had my daggers at his throat.  
  
The Dalriada warrior yielded, and I pulled him up by the hand. I gave him my best Cassiline bow and was caught up in an embrace, him pounding my back. I looked around sheepishly and saw Ryan grinning a lopsided smile, Charlotte at his side. The Alban daughters had an interest in him. I found myself immersed in a sea of Dalriada warriors, attempting to explain Cassiline discipline while trying to navigate our different languages.  
  
As for Brendon, he sat back while the twins fought over him. They seemed to argue more or less good-naturedly over everything. What one wanted, so did the other. What one had, so must the other. In the end, he disappeared with one of them. I didn't see which one.  
  
***  
  
Brendon sauntered out of the personal chambers of the Lords of the Dalriada in the morning with a self-satisfied look on his face. I disapproved.  
  
"Do you think that every problem can be solved by falling into someone's bed?" I hissed through my teeth.  
  
"Excuse me, but I don't have your skill with a sword to solve problems like that," Brendon replied haughtily. "Besides, I might not have, if you hadn't left me."  
  
I opened and closed my mouth a couple times before I was able to speak. By then I had cooled, and Brendon looked genuinely chastised. But he wasn't sorry, and he wasn't ashamed.  
  
"At least you could choose."  
  
Brendon looked to the twin sister, Lady Cassadee.  
  
"Sure did," he grinned.  
  
***  
  
For three days, they met and talked. The clan lords came, and still Elliot held out. They talked for three more days, and on the sixth day, Frank declared that he was riding out to reclaim his throne.  
  
The hall erupted.  
  
Brendon made his way to the twins. I could not hear their interaction, but he played them, of that I am sure. Elliot said Brendon could not favor one over the other. Brendon worked him up into a furious rage until he yelled out to the crowd.  
  
"The Dalriada ride to war!"  
  
Cheers echoed throughout the hall.  
  
Elliot turned his eyes back to Brendon, and they left the hall together. I shook my head. Brendon had done what he had come to do. I didn't have to like his methods.  
  
***  
  
Admiral Walker left half of his men with the ship; the rest would follow the battle. I rode with Ryan and Brendon, Necthana, Frank's mother, and her daughters, and others of the twins' household, behind the advancing army. As we marched, allies came, and our numbers grew.  
  
The Admiral asked if Brendon wanted sailors to guard him. He refused. He couldn't ask Albans to die if he wasn't willing to do it himself.  
  
"Besides, I have Spencer," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll stay?"  
  
"I've sworn it," I replied.  
  
We camped less than a day's march from the enemy's stronghold, Frank's own cousin, Maelcon. Ryan casually spoke the dromonde, assuring Admiral Walker that he and Brendon would make it to water again. It made the Admiral happy, at least.  
  
Frank rode his horse back and forth in front of the army.  
  
"You know why we are here, to reclaim the throne of Alba for the rightful heir. I am Frank mab Necthana, and you know my line, but I declare all of you my brothers and sisters--"  
  
His oldest sister, Tenessee, screamed.  
  
At the edge of the woods a black boar emerged. It was huge, I could even smell it. Six-thousand warriors stared at it in silence.  
  
One shout arose. The boar turned and wheeled back into the forest, but we could all see that he ran half-gaited and lame. The entire army roared.  
  
"Follow the Cullach Gorrym!"  
  
They charged. And just over the hill, they found Maelcon's army, who had crept in during the night hoping to surprise us at dawn. Left behind, we heard it. We didn't have long to stand idly by, however. A small party appeared behind us, under the banner of the Red Bull. They were Maelcon's, and they were there to take Necthana and her daughters hostage.  
  
I was the only one of us armed. I got down from my horse and drew my daggers, and they attacked. Five of them fell under my blades while Ryan and Brendon threw rocks.  
  
"Spencer! Draw your sword!" Brendon shouted from behind me.  
  
I paused, just for a second, before I rammed my daggers back into their sheaths, and my sword rang free. I had the advantage of height, and none of them got past me. Then arrows began to fly. Charlotte, the youngest of Necthana's daughters, had been able to snare a bow, and she used it well. Two of them fell before their leader yelled.  
  
"Forget hostages! Kill them all!" And he threw his spear at Charlotte.  
  
It caught her in her middle, and I heard two cries: her mother, and Ryan. Her sisters keened. With a shout, I descended upon the Tarbh Cro, my sword biting and slashing. They fell and died before me, and I didn't stop until they were gone.  
  
Frank found us. He was splashed with blood up to his elbows and wore an expression of grim determination. Then he saw the faces of his mother and remaining sisters. His mother rose, grave.  
  
"Who rules in Alba?" she asked.  
  
"I do."  
  
***  
  
We didn't ride to Bryn Gorrydum the next day, but remained at the battle site. There were about twelve-hundred Tarbh Cro who had survived to surrender. It had been a slaughter. The dead of Frank's army had been gathered and many of the survivors were building a stone cairn above them.  
  
We made camp there again that night. The Admiral found us at our campfire. He was wounded, but still bright in spirit.  
  
Admiral Walker told us the tale of the battle. How Frank met Maelcon, how the twins fought together. How he had promised his sailors that Brendon would knight them if they survived. We were taken aback.  
  
"You're the king's ambassador. They respect you, and you've the right," the Admiral continued.  
  
"They do? I do?"  
  
"You do," I said. I hadn't spoken since early in the day, building the cairn. My voice rasped in my throat.  
  
"Well then you--" Brendon began brightly.  
  
"No," I cut him off decidedly. "I am just Cassiel's servant. They deserve it."  
  
"Let me do it then."  
  
Admiral Walker rose and blew a piercing whistle. His sailors appeared out of the darkness. The Admiral gave Brendon his sword and the words, and one by one, he did it.  
  
"Let's give them a fighting name!" the Admiral cheered, "Brendon's Boys!"  
  
"I wish you wouldn't," he replied.  
  
Brendon disappeared after the Admiral left us once more. I don't know for certain where he went, but I suspect. Ryan kept vigil at Charlotte's bier.  
  
I found a place to kneel, away from the mourners at the cairn and the bier, private, in the Cassiline way. I noticed when Brendon came back. He had gone to Ryan, and more. I could see leaves in his hair, and he carried himself in a way I have seen far more frequently than I would have liked.  
  
Frank joined his mother and sisters to sing at the bier. He made his way to me, crouching at my side. I worried for a moment, my Cruithne was crude at best, but he spoke in Caerdicci.  
  
"You fight for family, brother."  
  
"I failed you; I don't deserve the honor," I said sadly.  
  
Frank gestured for Brendon to come translate, it was easier.  
  
"Thousands died today and I could not save them," Frank opined.  
  
"You fought for your birthright, and avenged your kin," I told him.  
  
"You have sworn no vow to the Cullach Gorrym. We risked our lives to retake Alba. Do not demean my sister's death by taking it from her," he declared fiercely.  
  
I was startled. I was overstepping the bounds of my responsibility, and he called me on it. Frank held out his hand and I took it.  
  
"Brother, if you will have me," I said softly.  
  
Frank grinned, standing and pulling me up with him, then hugging me fiercely. Cassadee emerged from the darkness.  
  
"If you want them to follow you, they need to see you," she said. She looked at Brendon. "Same goes for you."  
  
***  
  
The next day the army marched to Bryn Gorrydum. The gates to the fortress were open, and the garrison turned out to surrender their arms. They also gave us Foclaidha, Maelcon's mother, and the architect of the Alban coup.  
  
Frank reclaimed his throne and buried Charlotte in state. Then he nailed Maelcon's head to the door. He did listen to Foclaidha's petition, but she was guilty. Because she was his kin, Frank sentenced her to a quick death. We didn't realize how quickly it would be done. Two guards seized her, and Frank himself drew his sword and struck off her head.  
  
Outside, it was full spring, and it made us wonder what was happening at home. It took many days to fulfill the duties of state. Three-thousand foot soldiers and four-hundred horses would go, and that included the Dalriada, Elliot _and_ Cassadee.  
  
We decided to march south to where the Strait was narrowest. It was interesting and beautiful, for we travelled along an old Tiberian road, but Brendon rode with the weight of it all on his shoulders. We traded stories as we rode, reminders of what we had done to keep going through it all. Hating Pete, hating Brendon, being shamed into action. It merged well with what I had to tell him.  
  
The Admiral's men behind were us, marching in formation. One stepped out in front and unfurled a standard. It was dark brown, sable, with a crude red circle in the middle, pierced by a golden arrow. It was Kushiel's dart. Brendon sat atop his horse with his mouth hanging open until he remembered himself and snapped it closed. It only got worse. They started a humorously bawdy marching chant.  
  
"Did you know about this?" he asked, his cheeks flaming.  
  
"I might have."  
  
***  
  
We could see Terre d'Ange across the miles of water. Boats of every fashion floated in the harbor, waiting for us. Frank spoke to the army, reassuring them of our promise of safe passage, and it seemed true enough. The winds held light and steady, blowing toward Terre d'Ange, yet the sea was calm.  
  
After a while we heard shouting off the port bow, laughing and scuffling. There was a small raft, crewed by tribesmen and one D'Angeline sailor. They had caught an eel, and it was wriggling and struggling on their deck until someone managed to thump it on the head, and it shuddered.  
  
The wind went dead, then the sea erupted, the water boiled, boats and rafts tilted. A face rose. Brendon slipped half over the side, but I managed to haul him back.  
  
" _Who hunts my seas?_ "  
  
Frank stepped forward.  
  
"They are my men. I failed to warn them."  
  
" _You lead, Alban?_ "  
  
"It's my ship!" Admiral Walker yelled. "If you want a toll, take it from me!"  
  
" _I will take you all._ "  
  
A wave flowed under the ship and lifted it, and we were carried miles southward to an island with a narrow harbor. The wave receded and we slid gently down. In the harbor, a promontory of rock jutted out. Steps were cut in it, leading high up the cliff face to white marble columns at the very top.  
  
On the promontory stood two figures.  
  
"I'll go," Frank said softly.  
  
"No," Brendon countered. They argued for a few minutes in very fast Cruithne, and I didn't catch most of it. The Admiral looked over the side of the ship, judging the waters.  
  
"The waters are deep," said one of the men on the rock. "Bring your ship in close and lower a plank."  
  
"What do you see?" Brendon asked Ryan in a low voice.  
  
"I see an island, Brendon. What do you see?"  
  
The ship came alongside the promontory and put down a gangplank. Nobody moved.  
  
"The Master wishes to see... you, you, and you. And you."  
  
The man on the rock pointed at Frank, Admiral Walker, Brendon, and Ryan. I stepped up and bowed, then indicated Brendon.  
  
"Where he goes, I go. I have sworn it, in Cassiel's name."  
  
"Your companions are safe. Will you jeopardize them?"  
  
Brendon turned.  
  
"I have sworn it, Brendon," I reminded him, as if he needed it.  
  
"Spencer, I will kill you or myself before I let anyone else die for your vow," he replied harshly.  
  
The other man on the promontory lifted a hand to silence him.  
  
"He is companion-sworn. Let him come."  
  
We disembarked, then followed one servant up steps. It was a temple at the top. The path branched but we continued up.  
  
There was a figure at the center of the temple. He was tall, robed in gray, but the color of the robe shifted, like light on water. Beside him stood a shallow bronze vessel on a tripod. He turned to look at us, and like his robe, hi face and hair shifted. It was the face we had seen on the waters. This was the Master of the Straits.  
  
"Why have you brought us here?" Frank asked.  
  
"Eight-hundred years I have been trapped here, and you ask why?"  
  
"You want to break the binding, but you need two things. One is the union of Terre d'Ange and Alba," Brendon said morosely.  
  
"What is the other?" The Master stepped up to Brendon and caressed his face. Brendon shuddered. "You have named the riddle. Answer it in full, and you may leave. You have one night. Tomorrow you will answer, or die."  
  
***  
  
The Master's servant led us to a tower, and we followed silently. We entered a reception hall and found even more servants. We learned that our shipmates had been tended, and they offered us the Master's hospitality. We were each led to chambers, had a bath, and were given new clothes. We all converged in the dining hall, looking fine, if a bit stunned. Then we ate very well, if silently, at least until cordials.  
  
"So, we have a riddle to solve," the Admiral mused, cradling his glass comfortably.  
  
Brendon wandered aimlessly around the room. Frank said something low in Cruithne that I didn't catch. He did that a lot, and I wondered if he did it on purpose because he knew I couldn't follow. Brendon banged his head on the glass of window.  
  
"Brendon thinks he knows answer," Ryan observed.  
  
"If this is mine to answer, then let me," he said.  
  
"I wish Delaunay had left you where he found you," Ryan muttered sullenly.  
  
Brendon would not share the answer.  
  
***  
  
At noon the next day we were led back to the temple where the Master of the Straits waited.  
  
"Have you an answer?"  
  
"Yes," Brendon replied. "One of us must take your place."  
  
Ryan laughed harshly, and Brendon glared at him.  
  
"Are you prepared to answer in full?" continued the Master.  
  
"Yes," Brendon said again.  
  
"No." We all looked at Ryan. "You summoned me. I am here, and I will stay."  
  
"No, Ryan, no!" Brendon shouted.  
  
"Elizabeth dreamed that I was on an island. And I couldn't see the shore. The Long Road ends for me here." Ryan hung his head, refusing to meet anyone's eyes.  
  
"No, no," Brendon fairly screamed . He turned back to the Master of the Straits. "I will answer!"  
  
"Name my source of power."  
  
"The Book of Raziel," Brendon answered quickly.  
  
"Only pages," Ryan added. I looked at him and could see the dromonde. "The book was given to the first man by God to have mastery over sea and sky, but it was taken away due to his disobedience. It was given to you by your father, who the Admiral calls the Lord of the Deep, and Yeshuites call the Prince of the Sea, the angel Rahab. You were born of a D'Angeline woman and him, on this island. She had an Alban lover who tried to steal her away, but the sea took them. Rahab brought up the pages to give you mastery of the sea, but bound you here so Terre d'Ange and Alba would be separated until again love dared to cross the breach and one came to take your place."  
  
"It is so."  
  
That was it. Ryan was bound to the island to serve an apprenticeship. He was cursed until God was moved to forgive the angel Rahab his transgressions. As for the Straits, they would open when Frank and Gerard married. The only things preventing that were twenty-thousand Skaldi and the traitors of Camlach.  
  
The Master of the Straits would get us safely to land when we were ready. We took a little time. Ryan needed to prepare himself for an eternity of servitude on the island. Brendon needed to prepare himself to let him go. I could hear them arguing over it once we reached the tower. Brendon had turned hot eyes on Ryan and I had left them to it. But I heard. Perhaps I heard too much.  
  
***  
  
Before we left, the Master of the Straits showed us what had happened in Terre d'Ange since we had been gone. War. Skaldi flowing over the mountains, d'Aiglemort meeting him. But also Prince Mikey's guard, attacking from the rear. Finally the rest of the D'Angeline army. We could see Jon de Somerville, Navarro L'Envers, and so many more. They drove a wedge down the middle, but Selig flanked and came up behind. Their line held as the army retreated to Troyes-le-Mont in Namarre.  
  
Gerard was there.  
  
The next day the Master of the Straits would take us to the mouth of the Rhenus. From there we would make our way to Troyes-le-Mont.  
  
We planned much of the night, with Ryan watching from the sidelines. We worked in the library, poring over maps and arguing strategy. When Ryan quietly took his leave, I watched Brendon watch him go. He felt my gaze upon him and when he looked at me I smiled wryly and shrugged. Brendon's dark eyes were shadowed with sadness. He nodded once and left the library on silent feet.  
  
I let him go. If I tried to stop him, it would only make things worse. Ryan was Brendon's oldest friend. They needed things settled between them before we left, even if it pained me to know it.  
  
We sailed at dawn. We all said goodbye to Ryan as we came to him, but Brendon clung to him, his fingers whitening as Ryan pried him off. He didn't look back as we descended the long flights of steps to the ship. Brendon's face was wet with tears and he moved mechanically, unseeing onto the ship.  
  
We could still see Ryan and the Master of the Straits atop the cliff as the ship took sail. I climbed the rigging, drew my sword and held it aloft so the sun glinted on steel. At the temple, Ryan lifted his hand to return the salute. I held it until he became a speck on the horizon, and then I climbed down.  
  
Brendon laughed and cried.  
  
"You alright?" I asked him carefully.  
  
"I'll miss him."  
  
We sailed for a long time and kept watch for the Alban fleet, but there was no sign of it until we reached the Rhenus. They had been brought there before us and were in pretty good condition. The twins had taken command; Cassadee rallied their spirits while Elliot kept them organized.  


The army ended up travelling along the shores of the Rhenus. There had been only a handful of ships worth salvaging. We marched for two and a half days before scouts came with news of the D'Angeline fleet. We soon saw them rounding a bend of the river: thirty ships. Admiral Walker was very happy to see them.  
  
The army got on board the D'Angeline ships. Again, Brendon and I rode on the flagship with the Admiral, and Cassadee. A second ship sailed alongside, and we saw Elliot on deck. Soon, the twins were shouting and blowing kisses back and forth at each other.  
  
Brendon smiled at them.  
  
"We cannot honor the Dalriada enough for what you have done," he said to her.  
  
Cassadee watched Frank and the Admiral from across the deck  
  
"You've given us a part in a story the bards will sing to our grandchildren," she replied, drawing her hand down her body, stopping briefly on her belly.  
  
Brendon startled, gaping, and Cassadee laughed at him.  
  
"Oh, no!" she said with a grin, jerking her chin toward the men she watched. "The Admiral is of strong stock, don't you think?"  
  
Brendon's eyebrows shot up, and Cassadee laughed again as she walked away.  
  
Scouts had found the fleet with Jon de Somerville and half of the Azzallese forces, the other half of which were with Ray de Trevalion further south. The fleet would secure the length of the river between the first bridge and the sea.  
  
We came upon the ruined bridge, and Skaldi trying to cross it. They were being held off by de Somerville, but even so, the Skaldi froze as they saw the fleet. Archers lined the decks to protect the sailors as they worked to ground the ships.  
  
The fighting didn't last long. The Skaldi were unprepared for the wild Cruithne and had underestimated the Azzallese. We were safe aboardship, kept out of the fighting once again. The Admiral wouldn't risk Brendon again after what happened outside of Bryn Gorrydum.  
  
After the battle, the warriors returned to the ships and the flagship crossed the river. Brendon and I, Admiral Walker, Elliot and Cassadee, Frank, and a couple of Brendon's Boys all disembarked and made our way to Jon de Somerville. We found him disposing of Skaldi dead. He took off his helmet as we approached, and I recognized him from Gerard's council before we left for Alba.  
  
"You really did it," he said, disbelief thick in his voice as he shook the sweat out of his shaggy dark hair.  
  
***  
  
Jon de Somerville was a shrewd and able commander. He showed us detailed maps, indicating Ray de Trevalion's forces, where the Skaldi had struck, and of course, Troyes-le-Mont. So far, everything had gone according to plan, there were just too many Skaldi--nearly thirty-thousand. There were maybe eight-thousand D'Angelines in the fortress.  
  
We needed to break the Skaldi's discipline. The problem was, we didn't know what to do, and whatever we did, our chances weren't good.  
  
I talked to Brendon that night.  
  
"I think my father is in the fortress," I admitted. "I thought I saw our banner in the Master of the Straits' mirror." Brendon regarded me silently. It had been about twelve years since I last saw my family; I thought I'd have a chance to see them again one day. "Do you think they know? About me? All the good we've done? Or only that I'm a condemned murderer?"  
  
"No one who knew you would believe it," Brendon reassured me gently.  
  
"What do they know?" I said mournfully. "They haven't seen me since I was ten years old. How do they know what I became, when I hardly know myself. Did we come all this way for nothing?"  
  
***  
  
In the morning we said goodbye to Admiral Walker. He was staying to guard the river border, of course, but he had released Brendon's Boys to ride with us. We met Ray de Trevalion by nightfall.  
  
Again, we discussed the plan with Frank. Brendon wrote a letter to Patrick. He had promised Frank to somehow let the Alban families know if they didn't succeed. Brendon intended to do it himself, but Patrick was backup. He asked one of Brendon's Boys to take the letter to the City. Four of them rode out: Zack, who had taught Ryan to fish, and Shane, Ian, and Dallon.  
  
"I wish you'd go with them, Spencer," he said as they left.  
  
"Will you ever lay off testing my vow?" I wondered.  
  
"Not if I have a chance," he smirked.  
  
We rode to war in the morning. The army marched south, swinging wide around into Camlach to avoid Selig. Eventually we got to Namarre. We came to a place in the hills overlooking the plain where Selig's army was encamped. They surrounded the fortifications of Troyes-le-Mont, and to make it worse, they were building seige towers.  
  
In the dark just before dawn the Cruithne attacked. It was just a small group, but they slipped down to the plain, set a siege tower on fire, and retreated. A group of Skaldi warriors followed them, just as planned.  
  
The Skaldi were set upon by L'Agnacite bowmen up in the rocks, then by Dalriada slings and spears. Finally, we sent an avalanche of rocks down on them. It didn't stop them, but it slowed them down long enough for us to retreat. Much of the Skaldi group were killed, and even if it was just a small fraction of their army, it was something. As we settled in to camp for the night, a scout came back with news--another D'angeline army lay in a valley nearby.  
  
It was d'Aiglemort.

 

When we found his army, they numbered about three-thousand. We took them by surprise. They gazed up the steep mountains to see our army on all sides. We had them surrounded. I could see the leader, standing confident in center, d'Aiglemort.  
  
Jon de Somerville stepped up to a precipice and shouted.  
  
"d'Aiglemort, we wish to parley. Do you honor the concords of war?"  
  
d'Aiglemort made an exaggerated bow.  
  
Brendon nodded to the heralds, Zack and two others. We waited long moments to see if he was true. Duc Thomas Conrad d'Aiglemort came up with handful of warriors.  
  
"I am here, cousin. You wished to speak with me?" His tone was mocking, yet resigned.  
  
"The Emissary of Gerard de la Courcel, king of Terre d'Ange, wishes to speak with you," said Jon de Somerville somewhat sadly. All the great houses of Terre d'Ange were related somehow, and they were indeed cousins. It could not have been easy for him.  
  
Brendon stepped forward.  
  
"I know you," d'Aiglemort said cautiously.  
  
"Yes. I gave _joie_ to you at the Midwinter Masque, when Mikey Way de Trevalion..." Brendon trailed off, looking at the floor. I knew Brendon had been involved somehow in the fall of House Trevalion. He had just been a pawn in the political machinations of Pete Shahrizai, but he felt responsible to some extent. "You were fostered among the Shahrizai, you should have been taught to recognize the mark of Kushiel's Dart."  
  
"Delaunay's _anguissette_. Of course," said d'Aiglemort. "What do you want?"  
  
"This is the army of the Cruarch of Alba and Jon de Somerville. We are here to offer you the choosing of the manner of your death," Brendon replied.  
  
d'Aiglemort's men reacted, reaching for their swords. The Duc held up his hand.  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"You're a dead man," Brendon stated bluntly. "Waldemar Selig used you and won't let you live. The D'Angelines know you're a traitor, and won't abide it. Plus, Selig's smart enough not to leave a blade pointed at his back. I spent a considerable time in his bed, thanks to you. I know. You're dead, no matter who wins. We can offer you a chance to die with honor."  
  
"Why would I possibly take it?" d'Aiglemort snapped.  
  
"I am Brendon nó Delaunay and I can give you a reason," Brendon said calmy. "If you do not, and if Selig prevails, Pete Shahrizai will dance on your grave."  
  
His face looked like death. He had not known.  
  
"Pete was in league with Selig?" he asked softly, disbelieving.  
  
"Yes. I saw a letter in his hand. You would be advised to do him no more favors."  
  
"I am the sword you would plunge into Selig's heart. The betrayer of the nation turned into its savior." His resignation was clear. "What do you propose?"  
  
"Unite our forces and attack Selig's army," de Somerville put in. "No one's asking you to die alone, cousin."  
  
"Selig is mine. Swear it, and I will do it."  
  
"I swear," de Somerville said gravely. "Do you pledge fealty to Gerard de la Courcel, on Camael's honor, in the name of Blessed Elua?"  
  
"I'll pledge my loyalty to the destruction of Pete Shahrizai," hissed d'Aiglemort.  


***  
  
We descended into the valley to join d'Aiglemort's army. We were all on edge; if he was going to betray his word, that would have been the time to do it. We spent that whole day and the next making ready to march, laying out battle plans, and discussing what we knew of the Skaldi. We heard they broke through the fortifications and stood at the gates of Troyes-le-Mont.  
  
The army moved, finally. As we rode, I found the faces around me compelling. They knew they were most likely facing death, and were grim and resolved. Brendon was silent and uneasy. But on some, I saw hope, and defiance. I saw that on Frank, riding toward Gerard, his love.  
  
We camped in the foothills, then went out to survey the siege. There were two siege towers left; I could see the charred remains of others, including the one the Albans had destroyed. They were making ready a battering ram.  
  
"I hope they know us as allies in the fortress," said Jon de Somerville. "The sooner they rally the counterattack, the better."  
  
One of Brendon's Boys made a choking sound and pointed.  
  
We could see a line of prisoners being led among the Skaldi camps, a string of bright gowns, all women. Brendon couldn't look away. He knew--and I knew--what it was like to be a slave among the Skaldi. I took his shoulders and pulled him gently back. He pressed his face to my chest and shuddered.  
  
When I looked up, d'Aiglemort was watching.  
  
"I'm sorry for what was done to you both," he said quietly. "For what it's worth, I am sorry."  
  
***

[ Part 4](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/16145.html)


	4. A Lonely Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[tuesdaysgone](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[vampyreranger](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).

**Title:** A Lonely Place  
 **Band(s):** PATD, FOB, MCR, Cobra, TAI, The Cab, AAR, TYV, Empires, Hey Monday, The Like,  & misc.  
 **Pairing:** Spencer/Brendon (plus Brendon/everybody--there's a lot going on here)  
 **Word Count:** 33517  
 **Rating/Warnings:** R (non-graphic sex, violence, BDSM implied, war, slavery, dub-con implied, secondary character death, torture!)  
 **Summary:** Trained from childhood to a life of servitude and espionage, Brendon nó Delaunay serves his master, Gabriel Delaunay, as a courtesan and spy, ferreting out the dangerous secrets of the noble houses of Terre d'Ange. Contracted in a time of need, Spencer Smith, a fierce Cassiline Brother, serves as his bodyguard. When Brendon uncovers a treasonous conspiracy, however, his life takes on a new and deadly purpose, and so does Spencer's, for he has vowed to protect Brendon and his secrets with his very life. (Based on "Kushiel's Dart" by Jacqueline Carey.)  
 **Notes:** beta by [](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/profile)[**tuesdaysgone**](http://tuesdaysgone.livejournal.com/) and [](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/profile)[**vampyreranger**](http://vampyreranger.livejournal.com/).  
  
[BONUS CONTENT](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15207.html)  
Fanmix by [](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/profile)[**lady_deathangel**](http://lady-deathangel.livejournal.com/) and art by [](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/profile)[**clarityhiding**](http://clarityhiding.livejournal.com/).

A handy reference guide! (i.e. there are a lot of characters)  
[cheat sheet](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/14955.html#cutid1)  
  
[Part 1](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15363.html)  
[Part 2](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/15794.html)  
[Part 3](http://caras-fic.livejournal.com/16030.html)

Part 4

I woke in moonlight. Brendon stooped over me, kissed my forehead, and whispered goodbye. He thought I was asleep.  
  
Brendon rose, his travelling cloak billowing around him, and picked his way through the dark camp to d'Aiglemort. He came awake and had his sword at Brendon's throat before he could speak. I moved to intercede, but for whatever reason, hesitated and listened instead.  
  
"What is it?" d'Aiglemort grumbled.  
  
"The fortress will be ready for your attack," Brendon replied, in a voice low so it wouldn't carry, but I heard. I was far enough back to remain in the shadows, but I was close enough.  
  
"You'll be captured."  
  
"Not before I gain the wall," Brendon said confidently. "I can give a warning that Gerard will understand."  
  
"Why are you telling me?" asked d'Aiglemort tiredly.  
  
"You are the only one who won't try to stop me."  
  
It took an hour to climb down the foothills, beyond the outermost sentries. It took two more to cross the plain. I saw when Brendon found a tiny gap in the bulwarks. It was a tight fit, but Brendon made it through, and then so did I, following as closely as I dared.  
  
We picked our way through the Skaldi encampment. As I passed, I scavenged what armor lay unguarded, strapping it on as I went. It made me less conspicuous, aside from being useful later.  
  
Brendon gained one of the ruined siege towers; one right up next to the fortress walls. It was high enough to reach the battlements, but the Skaldi hadn't been able to cross. I watched as Brendon climbed, up to an opening in the fortress tower. He tossed bits of charcoal until a light moved inside, and suddenly found a crossbow pointed in his face.  
  
"In the name of Gerard de la Courcel, hold!" he hissed.  
  
It drew shouts from the Skaldi. I cast around frantically, determined to allow Brendon to fulfill his ill-conceived mission, but torn between wanting to protect him and dragging him away myself.  
  
"Tell the king that Delaunay's other pupil has done his bidding!"  
  
The Skaldi dragged him out of the seige tower as I hesitated.  
  
"What were you doing?" growled one, grabbing Brendon by the arm and shaking him roughly.  
  
"He can't understand you," grumbled another.  
  
"Oh, I think he understands." The voice sent chills down my spine. "Don't you, Brendon?"  
  
Brendon looked up into eyes of Waldemar Selig.  
  
"What were you doing on the tower?"  
  
Brendon merely stared at him. I stared at him from the shadows. But it was Brendon he struck two times across the face. His lip split, and blood dripped down his chin, but Brendon remained silent.  
  
"He shouted something," suggested the Skaldi who still grasped Brendon's arm.  
  
"What was it?" asked Selig. The Skaldi had heard, and even if they didn't speak D'Angeline, Selig did, and they figured it out. "I will give you a quick death if you speak."  
  
"No."  
  
"You claim to find pleasure in pain. Let Gerard de la Courcel see how well Waldemar Selig pleases his spies."  
  
They cleared a space in front of the fortress, just beyond archer range. Selig dragged Brendon over and ripped open his tunic, baring his back.  
  
"Gerard de la Courcel," Selig shouted toward the fortress, "See what becomes of spies and traitors?"  
  
He set his dagger against the skin of Brendon's shoulder blade and began to cut. He grasped the flesh and slowly pulled down.  
  
He was going to skin Brendon alive.  
  
Brendon screamed, and I could no longer stand idly by. I leaped out of my hiding place.  
  
"Waldemar Selig, I challenge you to the holmgang!"  
  
He let Brendon go, and he fell over, bleeding on the ground. Selig stood staring, then laughed. He threw his head back and laughed.  
  
"Yes, let us dance upon the hides," he said gleefully. "Then let Terre d'Ange see how Waldemar Selig deals with champions."  
  
I had no shield, and no one would lend me one as they had before. It was just as well. Brendon knelt, off to the side, now flanked by two guards. Tears streamed down his face, and I knew he cursed me in his thoughts.  
  
Selig and I took places at opposite ends of a hastily staked down hide. I bowed. Waldemar Selig thrust his sword into the air and the Skaldi shouted.  
  
It was fast, streaks of steel and clashing metal. He slashed my arm just above the vambraces. While Selig changed shields, I slid up the vambrace and tightened it over the wound. No blood splashed on the hide.  
  
He attacked again and I deflected the blow. My other hand came up into a two-handed grip, and my sword slid high and scored Selig's jaw. Fat drops of blood splattered onto the hide.  
  
It was silent when I sheathed my sword. Waldemar Selig wiped the blood off his face.  
  
"For that I will let you live long enough to see what is left of him when I am done."  
  
"In Cassiel's name, I protect and serve."  
  
I moved then, and Brendon knew, I could see it in his eyes.  
  
 _The terminus._  
  
All Cassiline forms have names drawn from nature--birds on the wing, mountain stream, trees bending in the wind. Beautiful descriptions for what we did. Except the terminus.  
  
I spun toward Brendon and tossed one dagger in the air, catching it by the blade. I brought the other to my own throat and set the point. It was the last act the Perfect Companion may perform. Brendon met my eyes. I had a dagger balanced to throw at his heart, and another to cut my throat.  
  
"Do it," he gasped raggedly.  
  
I looked over my shoulder and froze. Then I moved as fast as ever I had. I threw a dagger at one of Brendon's guards, who fell backward. I ran towards Brendon and snatched my dagger up as I passed. The other guard released him, fumbling for his sword. I took him with crossed daggers to his throat, grabbed Brendon's arm, hauled him to his feet, and dragged him toward the fortress.  
  
The portcullis was being raised, and the drawbridge crashed down over the moat. The night skies lit on fire. The trebuchet atop the battlements hurled flaming liquid pitch over our heads and splattered the Skaldi front lines. A mounted unit pounded out of the gates then, past us on both sides. One rider plucked Brendon up and slung him across the pommel of his saddle. I took the hand of another and swung up behind him. They turned and headed back toward the drawbridge while the other riders rode in a semicircle against the Skaldi, then wheeled back and leaped and stumbled on the half-raised bridge.  
  
The drawbridge slammed shut, and they cut the ropes to the portcullis, bringing it crashing down. We were safe in the fortress courtyard, and dismounted. Brendon's rescuer took off his helmet. It was Navarro L'Envers. He helped Brendon down, and he stood for a second before he crumpled to a heap on the ground.  
  
I made the crowd stand back and give Brendon space. Brendon clung to my hand as I knelt beside him.  
  
" _Make way for the King!_ "  
  
Gerard came with an Eisandine chirurgeon, who examined the damage and cleaned up the blood trickling down Brendon's back.  
  
"It's not as bad as it looks," the chirurgeon said reassuringly. "He was going for pain, not death."  
  
The chirurgeon stitched the flap of skin back in place, then applied salve and a bandage. Brendon stood shakily when he was finished. His blood-soaked tunic hung in tatters.  
  
Brendon bowed.  
  
"Your majesty."  
  
"Did we understand your message correctly?" Gerard asked. Brendon nodded.  
  
"An army of seven-thousand stands ready to attack at daybreak."  
  
"Seven-thousand Albans!"  
  
"No," Brendon continued carefully, swaying a little. "Half Alban, half d'Aiglemort..."  
  
A murmur ripplied through the crowd. Brendon wavered, and I caught his arm, steadying him.  
  
"Whose idea was that?" grumbled L'Envers.  
  
"Mine," replied Brendon, his head held high.  
  
"Why would d'Aiglemort aid us?" the king wondered.  
  
"We gave him the choice of a heroes death."  
  
Gerard commanded the army to support the allies and mount a counterattck. There was a sound from the gatehouse, and a defender came running. The Skaldi were breaking up a siege tower to lay timbers across the moat.  
  
"We can't get excited and let Selig think we can afford to waste our armaments holding him off," Gerard said decisively. "We must dig in."  
  
"Let him get close before driving him back," L'Envers agreed, nodding. Gerard dismissed everyone but his personal guard, and us.  
  
"Come, Brendon, you shouldn't be standing," he said. "My attendants are inside and will make you comfortable. Spencer, will you assist?"  
  
"May I have a moment, please?" I turned to Tibault de Toluard. "Can you tell me if my father is here?"  
  
"I'm sorry, there are some sixteen-hundred Siovalese here, and I don't know them all."  
  
"Go find him," Brendon pressed, still unsteady on his feet, but ignoring it. "I'm fine."  
  
I looked at him incredulously.  
  
"You're a long way from fine," I hissed. I picked him up, nodding to Gerard. "Your majesty."  
  
It was quieter inside. There were only a few attending Gerard, including his Cassiline guards. I ignored them and watched as the chirurgeon checked Brendon's bandage, then the gash on my arm.  
  
"We don't have much time." Gerard sat in a chair and looked at us. "Whatever happens, I want you to know I issued a pardon before I left the City, proclaiming your innocence in the death of Delaunay. Everyone here knows." Brendon blinked back tears, and I bowed low. "I'm sorry I couldn't do it earlier. I didn't know who to trust."  
  
"You didn't find Pete?" Brendon asked in a small voice.  
  
Gerard shook head, then he got up and paced.  
  
"Is it true that Frank mab Necthana rules as Cruarch in Alba? Did he send word?"  
  
It forced a smile to my face, much to the surprise of Brendon. His eyebrows shot up, and he looked at me strangely for a moment before he responded to the king.  
  
"I saw him crowned before we left Alba. Your dream of two nations ruled side by side lives on in him. He rides to Troyes-le-Mont with a joyful heart, because he rides to you."  
  
"Thank you," Gerard said softly. There was a blush on his pale cheeks.  
  
"Your majesty, I was honored to have Frank mab Necthana call me brother," I told him. "He's courageous, and a good leader, and I think he's madly in love with you."  
  
Gerard's blush deepened.  
  
"I didn't think Cassilines were supposed to notice such things," he said shyly.  
  
"No," I admitted, glancing at Brendon. "They're not."  
  
A soldier came to retrieve Gerard for a conference with his commanders. It left me alone with Brendon.  
  
"How did you know?" he asked.  
  
"I woke up," I said simply. "Knew you were up to something."  
  
"I thought you'd betrayed us all, for your vow. I'm sorry."  
  
"I know," I said dumbly. "Every Cassiline learns it, you know, the _terminus_ , but no one's ever used it in living memory. I almost killed us both."  
  
" _Spencer_ ," he touched my face. "I am grateful."  
  
I caught his hand and squeezed it. We stood together for a moment there in Gerard's chambers.  
  
"Let's go find out what's going on."  
  
***  
  
We made our way through the fortress. We climbed a tower, up to the battlements. Gerard was there, with his advisors.  
  
"If Selig divides his forces, we're in trouble," said L'Envers.  
  
"They'll follow Selig," Brendon told him. "If he goes, they'll all go. And d'Aiglemort is aiming for him."  
  
We stood there and watched skies the lighten. We watched for our army. I told Gerard the tale of our journey, and of Ryan, as we waited. Brendon let me. It was Ryan's idea to pretend to be a mendacant, so I did the telling, for him. When I finished, we looked through the arrow slit again.  
  
We could see the army, they were coming.  
  
Gerard moved to watch the advance from there. Brendon stepped out from behind to stand at the low crenelation of the battlements. I didn't pull him back to safety, I just stood beside him.  
  
At the base of the fortress, it was confusion. The sappers abandoned their posts. Selig rode back and forth, shouting at them.  
  
d'Aiglemort's army advanced into the Skaldi forces, driving a wedge down the middle, but quickly overran on both sides. Then the Albans struck--cavalry, war-chariots, and foot soldiers, but the numbers were still against them. The Camaeline infantry held their line, then broke. Through it came the Camaeline cavalry, d'Aiglemort at the head.  
  
A shock went through the Skaldi army.  
  
Selig turned on his horse. The center was coming for him, and he knew it. He drew his sword, raised it into the air, and plunged into battle. The Skaldi followed him. That was when the Royal Army moved. They streamed over the drawbridge and fell on the Skaldi rear guard.  
  
We could still see d'Aiglemort and Selig moving towards each other. They fought on the plain, on foot. Their horses had died, and shortly, so did they. d'Aiglemort pierced Selig's armor, and as he sank to his knees, d'Aiglemort went with him.  
  
***  
  
The Skaldi broke, just as Brendon had predicted. We could see the Albans in the middle of the battlefield when a clamor broke out in the courtyard. Some few Skaldi had charged the gate and made it in. It was too close for archers, and there were just a few defenders left inside to fight.  
  
One stood out, making a space around himself, but outnumbered. From beneath his helmet, a long braid swung like a whip. Fear struck me. The braid could have been mine.  
  
" _Jack!_ " I cried out over the melee.  
  
It was one of my brothers. They were twins, three years older, Jacques and Christolphe. They would switch: one would act the warrior, with our father, while the other managed the estate with mother. The third son had gone to Cassiel, of course. It was usually the middle son, but they hadn't the heart to separate the twins so permanently.  
  
Brendon grasped my arms and shook me roughly.  
  
"Can you get to him? Then go!"  
  
"If ever there was a time when I dared not--" I began.  
  
Brendon dug his fists in my hair and dragged my face down to his, kissing me hard.  
  
"I love you," he said fiercely. "If you ever want to hear it again, you will not choose your vow over your brother's life!"  
  
I was startled. Brendon let me go and took a step back. We stared at one another, then I whirled and dashed for the tower. I emerged at the inner wall, still some twelve to fifteen feet up above the courtyard.  
  
I drew my daggers and leaped over the edge.  
  
I landed in the thick of the Skaldi attackers. They scattered, and I sheathed my daggers. I drew my sword and took them down. The D'Angeline defenders rallied.  
  
In the end, any remaining Skaldi either fled or surrendered. The courtyard was won, and the fortress sat undefeated.  
  
I hastily reacquainted myself with my brother. He was well enough, as was our father.  
  
Brendon had gone out to give water to the wounded and dying. I could see his hunched form, pausing here and there, finally stopping for some minutes within the ring of Cruithne. Frank and his warriors had formed a protective circle around the fallen d'Aiglemort.  
  
As I drew closer, I could hear the wailing of the Dalriada. So did Brendon and Frank.  
  
The Dalriada were clustered around one of the chariots, and I could see grief on Cassadee's face.  
  
"Oh no, Elliot," Brendon said softly.  
  
Elliot was arranged on the ground so that as he lay his terrible wound was concealed. Frank cut a lock of hair and laid it on Elliot's hands.  
  
"His name will live forever among the Cullach Gorrym," he promised gravely.  
  
"I'm sorry," Brendon whispered. "I'm so sorry."  
  
"My brother chose his fate," the Lady Cassadee said proudly. "You made him choose to be more than he would have. Do not deny him that honor."  
  
Brendon bowed his head contritely, and after a moment, cut a lock of hair and set it beside Frank's.  
  
"We would have failed without you," he said to Elliot, to them all.  
  
I laid a hand on Brendon's shoulder and he straightened. We walked back to Troyes-le-Mont together.  
  
***  
  
Gerard granted amnesty to the Allies of Camlach. It was done because d'Aiglemort's forces decided to pursue the fleeing Skaldi in atonement for their betrayal. The Skaldi that were left were ransomed, sent home, and the borders were sealed.  
  
Gerard and Frank, of course, were reunited. Frank rode up to the fortress with his army at his back, and Gerard threw open the doors. They clasped hands, then Frank drew Gerard's hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly.  
  
The armies cheered. The nobles didn't, but no one dared speak against their union. We owed our lives and sovereignty to Alba.  
  
Brendon spent a lot of time translating. There were others who were just as skilled, but none who Gerard trusted as much as Brendon. He also spent considerable time in the hospital wing. There were many Albans, and some of Brendon's Boys, of whom only a dozen or so survived. He spent time at all their bedsides.  
  
I introduced Brendon to my father and brother before they left to return to Siovale. My father was very tall and serious, much like myself, in fact. It made me a little anxious, remembering how Brendon and I got along when we first met.  
  
"I have heard what you did," my father said to him. "Terre d'Ange owes you a great debt for your service."  
  
"If not for Spencer, I would be dead many times over," Brendon replied, smiling wide. My father returned the smile, then turned to me, serious.  
  
"Whether or not I agree with the path you have chosen, you have acquitted yourself with honor."  
  
"I can't disagree, seeing the cause!" Jack interrupted mischieviously. His eyes sparkled merrily. He reminded me of our mother. "Will you come visit us, Brendon? You ought to give me a chance before you settle on Spencer."  
  
He was teasing, and I was horrified, which I'm sure was the desired effect for everyone involved except for Jack himself. But Brendon and I hadn't spoken really since our kiss on the battlements. I didn't know what it meant.  
  
"Neither of us have decided anything," Brendon stated diplomatically. "But I would be honored to see Siovale."  
  
"You would be welcome," said my father decisively.  
  
Brendon stepped back and let us say goodbye, but stood with me and watched them ride away.  
  
"My father wanted to speak to the Prefect about rescinding the edict against me," I told him after they had gone.  
  
"What did you say?" Brendon gasped.  
  
"I said no. I have my vow to think of, you know."  
  
Brendon laughed.  
  
We spent our days as if at court, serving Gerard in whatever capacity he deemed necessary. People arrived every day and we barely took notice after awhile, but I saw when the Duc de Morhban came. I went to fetch Brendon as quickly as I could; it wouldn't do for him to be taken by surprise.  
  
Pete was with him.  
  
***  
  
The Duc knew how to deal with House Shahrizai. He waited, biding his time. In the end, Pete's own kin betrayed him, and the Duc de Morhban found him in an isolated hold in southern Kusheth, preparing to journey.  
  
The hearing was held in the throne room at Troyes-le-Mont. I stood behind the throne, close to Brendon. It was difficult for him, fixated on Pete. We had no proof of his duplicity; it was gone on the battlefield.  
  
"You stand accused of treason. How do you plead?" Gerard asked.  
  
"I am your loyal servant, innocent of the charge," Pete replied coolly.  
  
"You are charged with conspiring with d'Aiglemort to betray the nation and seize the throne. Do you deny it?" Gerard continued.  
  
"For one-thousand years, House Shahrizai has served the throne. de Morhban makes charges but offers no proof."  
  
"You are charged too with conspiring with Waldemar Selig of the Skaldi," Gerard added.  
  
Pete was surprised.  
  
"Does the Duc say so? That's easy to do, since the dead cannot refute it."  
  
"No, not de Morhban," Gerard replied.  
  
"Who?"  
  
Brendon stepped forward.  
  
"I do," he said clearly. Brendon grasped the diamond at his throat and tore it loose with a vicious jerk. He threw it on the floor between them. "That is yours. I am not. You should have killed me when you had the chance."  
  
"Do you dispute this charge?" Gerard repeated.  
  
"You have proof of their story?" Pete still tried for confident.  
  
"Thirty-thousand invading Skaldi present an effective argument."  
  
"I have no more to say," Pete acquiesced, his head hanging low.  
  
"You will be executed at dawn."  
  
***  
  
I let Brendon be. I didn't understand exactly what lay between them, but I don't think he really did either. I knew he hated Pete, for what he did to us and to Terre d'Ange, but also that Brendon had loved him too.  
  
Late that night, Pete sent for Brendon. I argued that he should not go see him at all, then that he should not go see him alone when it was clear that Brendon was going to go. I didn't let him go alone.  
  
I admit that I didn't process much of what Pete said, due to the blinding rage that coursed through me. I got the gist of it. Selig had offered half an empire, but even that was not enough. Pete would have taken Terre d'Ange and all of Skaldia too.  
  
When Brendon asked why, Pete replied it was because he could.  
  
"I would never have helped you in this," Brendon hissed defiantly.  
  
"No?" Pete purred. "Are you so sure, Brendon?"  
  
I stood stock still as Pete crossed the room to Brendon, cupped his cheek. It was almost a kiss. Brendon staggered.  
  
I growled.  
  
"You may go now and leave me to consider my death."  
  
We went.  
  
***  
  
Brendon went to sit on the battlements. Open spaces cleared his head. Once again, I let him go. It would do neither of us any good to pin him down. I found him there at sunrise.  
  
"Why did you go see him?" I wondered aloud.  
  
"I don't know," Brendon mumbled, miserable.  
  
"You know I could never hurt you, even if you asked." It was an admission I had been afraid to make, sure it would make a difference to him.  
  
"I know," he said softly. "We survived thirty-thousand Skaldi and the Master of the Straits. We ought to be able to survive each other."  
  
I laughed, almost against my will. Brendon slipped his arms around my waist and we stood there together as the sky lightened. After a time we heard shouting, horns, and the sound of running. I caught at passing guard.  
  
They were to execute Pete at dawn, but he was gone. The guards were dead at his door and the postern gate.  
  
Gerard sent riders, turned the fortress upside down, and didn't find Pete. Everyone was interrogated, even me and Brendon. Someone was a traitor. Gerard didn't find out who.  
  
It had to be enough that Pete would find no welcome in Terre d'Ange.  
  
***  
  
We began the long journey back to the City of Elua. Our progress was slow. We were held back by the D'Angeline troops and the Alban army, plus the people of Terre d'Ange came out the whole length of the way, throwing flowers and cheering Gerard. They cheered Frank too.  
  
When we reached the City of Elua, the whole city turned out.  
  
Gerard gave us rooms in the palace and retained us in his service. Brendon reunited with all his friends remaining in the City. Patrick came to visit, as well as Brendon's old teacher, whom I had never met, but Brendon received with enthusiastic hugs and an outburst of tears.  
  
***  
  
Gerard and Frank's wedding preparations took weeks. In the meantime, Patrick set our deeds and the battle to verse. It was epic. He called it the Gerardian Cycle, about his ascension to the throne of Terre d'Ange. We were merely players.  
  
Brendon did various tasks--translating, taking Brendon's Boys to the Night Court, and bearing news of Ryan to his crew on Night's Doorstep. I found him at the Temple of Elua, meaning to draw him back to the palace, but the priest bid me wait.  
  
"Cassiel's child, you have stood at the crossroads and chosen, and like Cassiel, you will ever stand at the crossroads and choose, choose again and again, the path of the Companion. The choice lies ever within you, the crossroads and the way, and Elua's commandment to point you on it." Then he looked at Brendon. "Love as thou wilt, and Elua will ever guide your steps."  
  
He left us.  
  
"Are you sorry?" Brendon asked carefully.  
  
"No," I shook my head.  
  
His question and my answer could mean so many things. But I took Brendon's face in my hands and lowered my head to kiss him. I could feel Elua's presence around us, and I was not sorry for choosing Brendon. I would always choose Brendon.  
  
***  
  
Brendon helped outfit the Albans for the wedding, with varying success. Cassadee was bemused by her ornate gown of scarlet silk and gold brocade. Not in the least because in her final check, it didn't fit.  
  
Brendon looked at her carefully for a long moment before he said anything. I leaned back against the wall, practically useless in the depths of the palace where Brendon ostensibly was in danger from none other than himself. Dress fittings were excruciatingly boring.  
  
"How long?" he finally asked.  
  
"Three months or so," Cassadee replied. Brendon blanched, and one of my feet slipped as I shifted, ready to move if I had to. But the color slowly came back to Brendon's cheeks as his mind worked.  
  
"The Admiral?"  
  
"Likely." Brendon frowned. She was teasing him.  
  
Gerard watched from the opposite side of the room, mystified. His Cruithne was rudimentary, so I was unsure how much of their exchange he understood.  
  
"Will he marry her?" Gerard asked in D'Angeline.  
  
Cassadee laughed.  
  
"I don't think it matters to her," Brendon replied with a shrug.  
  
"What of you?"  
  
I froze. I couldn't see the whole of Brendon's face from my vantage point. I wanted to.  
  
"Cassiline vows bind for a lifetime," he said softly. "He can't do it, and I won't ask."  
  
Cassadee stepped down from the dressmaker's attention, nodding and smiling at Gerard, and stroking Brendon's cheek as she passed. He smiled up at her, transferring it to me as his gaze travelled across the room.  
  
"Will you return to Naamah's service?" Gerard wondered.  
  
For a moment I felt as if the king was deliberately torturing me. But I knew it was because I was still too much of a Cassiline, anathema or no. Gerard was used to his ever-present Cassiline guard and ignored them. It was as if I wasn't even there.  
  
"I don't know," Brendon said. He sounded sad. "I have many friends, but nothing in my pockets."  
  
Gerard summoned the Chancellor of the Exchequer regarding Delaunay's estate, and within minutes, he came. The townhouse in the City and all its holdings were purchased. They could begin proceedings to reclaim it, or compensate Brendon for the amount of sale.  
  
Brendon didn't know why they would do such a thing. But Delaunay had named him his heir. Brendon didn't want it.  
  
There was also Montreve in Siovale, and that caught my attention. This came through Delaunay's mother, and held none of the bad memories like the City property did. So Brendon inherited a title and an estate.  
  
He became the Comte de Montreve.  
  
***  
  
The wedding ceremony was held in the palace garden. Elua's temple is anywhere in Terre d'Ange where earth meets sky, not only in the buildings dedicated to that purpose. Gerard was in Courcel blue, while Frank wore the red cloak of the Cruarch hanging from his shoulders. They sealed the contract with a kiss, parting with a smile and sparkling eyes.  
  
At the feast, Patrick debuted his verses. We drank _joie_ , had the first dance together, and the last. It carried on til dawn, and we watched the sun rise.  
  
The following days were full of activity while we made preparations for the journey to Montreve. Three of Brendon's Boys entered his service---Zack, Shane, and young Ian. He allowed them their choice, but it embarassed him. I understood their strange and extravagant loyalty. Brendon did not.  
  
***  
  
It took a long time to settle into the rhythms of Montreve. For me, it was beautiful, like coming home. The hills were covered in sheep, and I loved the place. Brendon loved Delaunay, and between the two of us, we eventually won over the people of Montreve.  
  
Brendon wrote letters. To everyone. The Boys acted as couriers, running around Terre d'Ange on Brendon's business.  
  
In the spring we went to L'Arene to visit Joe and Christine. They had a successful tailor's shop, and still wouldn't take anything for saving us. Brendon commissioned livery instead, and that satisfied them all. We also found a Yeshuite scholar to teach Brendon, and help Ryan escape the Master of the Straits.  
  
In late summer, we had a visitor. It was Maestro Gonzago de Escabares, old friend and teacher of Delaunay, and historian of Aragonia. He had been travelling in the northern city-states of Caerdicca Unitas, and was passing through on his way back home. Brendon was excited; he hadn't seen him since he was a child in Delaunay's house.  
  
"I have some gifts here for you," the old man said indulgently. "A Caerdicci translation of Delaunay's verses, and something odd."  
  
"What do you mean?" Brendon asked curiously.  
  
"I was in La Serenissima," the Maestro began. He passed Brendon a package bound in twine. It was the translation. Brendon laughed. "I have an acquaintance who does astrology for the Doge. I pointed him to good inn, and in the morning, he had a guest." Brendon was still, and I felt cold all over. "It was a young man with hair the color of night and eyes to match, whose voice made him weak in the knees." He drew out a large bundle in a silk drawstring bag. "He said that since my friend was carrying a letter from you to me, if he would please carry a package to me for you, Brendon."  
  
Brendon took it with trembling hands.  
  
"Don't open it!" I shouted. "He has no hold on you, and you owe him nothing! You don't need to know; throw it away."  
  
"I can't," Brendon moaned. But he couldn't open it either, and sat with it in his lap.  
  
I tore it out of his hands and yanked it open and pulled out his sangoire cloak.  
  
We stared at it.  
  
Brendon had been wearing it the day Delaunay had been killed. The day Pete had betrayed us.  
  
"What is this supposed to mean?" I hissed.  
  
Pete was in La Serenissima. Someone had gotten him out of Troyes-le-Mont. He wanted Brendon to tease out the intrigue he had woven.  
  
Brendon chanelled his gifts into his studies, and I could see his mind whirling. He had the friendship of the sovereigns of two nations, the Lady of the Dalriada, and the Royal Admiral. A revered scholar of the University of Tiberium, the goodwill of the Yeshuite community, and a standing claim on a company of Tsingani. Friends high and low, and his dearest friend was successor to the Master of the Straits.  
  
He also had me.  
  
"Brendon?"  
  
He looked up at me.  
  
"I'll tell you. Tomorrow."


End file.
